


The Malcolm Effect

by Bowtrucklefarmer



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Jurassic Park Series - Michael Crichton, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dinosaurs, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awesome James "Rhodey" Rhodes, BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Tony Stark, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Intern Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Jurassic Park References, Minor Carol Danvers/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Minor Character Death, Obadiah is a jerk, Parent Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Tony Stark, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, This follows the book not the movie, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Woops, beck is an idiot, but shes mean lol, but shes not in this, carol is mentioned briefly, dw no one we care about dies, liv octavius is a genius, ppl get mauled, some ocs but very minor, this is a jurassic park au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowtrucklefarmer/pseuds/Bowtrucklefarmer
Summary: Two years after Obadiah was fired from Stark Industries, Tony gets a phone call.Apparently, all this time Stane has been working on an amusement park, of all things. And he wants Tony to give approval on the 'security measures.' Whatever that means.Tony and Pepper reluctantly make the journey to the island, accompanied by Justin Hammer, and his intern, Peter Parker.Little do they know just how life-changing this trip will be.(A Jurassic Park AU, updated weekly.)
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 96
Kudos: 203





	1. For the Kids.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever! I'm open to constructive criticism; how is the imagery? Is the dialogue believable? Let me know!
> 
> Since this is a Jurassic Park AU, there's going to be some violence. Mentions of blood, gore, etc. will have warnings at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> Chapter 1 is pretty short, but they'll get longer as we work through the exposition. Enjoy!

_Thump_ , 126.

 _Thump_ , 127.

 _Thump_ , 128.

_Sir, there is an incoming call from Obadiah Stane._

A pause. “Answer it, Fri.”

Faint white noise fills the room, “Tony.”

 _Thump_ , 129.

“Obie!” He says, overly cheerful, “good to finally hear from you.”

 _Thump_ , 130.

The laugh that sounds through the speakers sounds more annoyed than amused. “Well, in my defense, it’s been a busy time.”

“What, too busy to call for 2 _years_?”

 _Thump_ , 131.

“Yes, actually.” His voice drops in volume, his tone is serious, “I’m working on something big, Tony—” _Thump_ , 132— "and I want you to be a part of it.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Come on, Obie. You of all people know how time consuming running this company is. I’m swamped here.”

He throws the rubber ball again, it bounces off his office ceiling just like the other 132 times: _Thump_ , 133.

Obadiah scoffs, “you mean how time consuming it is for _Pepper_?”

Tony finally sits upright in his chair. He sniffs, unconsciously straightening his tie, “Yes.”

There’s that annoyed laugh again. “All I’m asking is that you fly down for the weekend. Check out the place, and I guarantee you’ll be begging to invest.” Tony nearly laughs aloud at that. “Plus, I’d love your opinion on our security measures. All this tech-stuff is right up your alley.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know Obes. I’ve moved to clean energy, I’m a little rusty on the more weaponized side of things.”

He barks out a laugh. “You and I both know this stuff is in your blood. You could never forget it.” Obie’s words are the perfect combination of a kiss-ass, and a reminder of Tony’s past; His knuckles are turning white around the rubber ball. “I’m sending a ‘copter Friday afternoon. Get on it, and I’ll owe you one.” The line disconnects.

***

“You can’t be seriously considering this, Pep.”

The kitchen lighting is a sharp contrast to the darkness flooding through the large windows. It’s nearly two in the morning already. Pepper watches her husband—sitting on the counter, swinging his legs like a kid, hands under thighs, and hunched over nervously—as he runs his fingers through his already mussed hair. Despite being swallowed by an oversized hoodie, he’s the epitome of anxiety.

Pepper sighs, tucking her red hair behind her ear. As she watches him from the table, she notes the desperation in his tone. _It’s out of love_ , she tells herself, _he’s worried_.

“Yes, Tony, I am,” She says quietly. “An amusement park! You know it would be great for PR.”

Tony is shaking his head as she continues, “Just think of it as a vacation? It’s on an island! You’re always saying we need some R&R—”

“—Yes, but not in any kind of proximity with _Stane_ , Pep!” Tony snaps. She would be offended if his voice didn’t sound so distressed.

He composes himself, but keeps his gaze carefully on the floor. “Pep,” he says, “I’m just not sure if this is a good idea.” She holds back a sigh, “he has something up his sleeve here. Why would he call us in for a _theme park_?”

His right hand grabs his left wrist and squeezes it rhythmically. Tony has become something of a master at hiding his little anxiety ticks, but Pepper has always been able to see through them.

She makes her way to where he sits on the counter, and gently peels his hands apart. “I know you two didn’t leave on the best terms, Tony.”

“Bit of an understatement there,” he scoffs.

With their fingers intertwined, Pepper lowers her voice to something more subdued. “He’s a creep, and a snake, and a total dick—” Tony barks out a surprised laugh, “—and that’s why we _need_ to go check this out.”

He looks at her calculatingly, and raises an eyebrow, “this isn’t just about PR, is it Pep.”

Dammit. She forgets he rivals her ability to read people. She lets out a quiet sigh. “Okay. Maybe this isn’t just about business,” she murmurs.

He opens his mouth to reply, but she continues, “We’ve got to keep this in check. He’s going to be dealing with _kids_ , Tony.”

He immediately stiffens. “Honey—” he begins placatingly.

“No,” she says, speaking feverishly now, “just think! We both know Stane isn’t above cutting corners, even when it comes to children’s safety.” Tony tries to speak again, but she feels the words tumbling out of her. “Can you think of anyone less trustworthy to run an operation like this? We both know it’s for nothing more than personal gain, and people are going to get hurt without someone there to keep things honest. And the main investor is _Justin Hammer_? He’s no better! Together they’re—"

“Pep,” Tony says sharply, and she sucks in a deep breath. “Okay.”

A pause, “…What?”

“Okay,” he says again, matter-of-fact. “This is important to you, and you’re right. We need to make sure there isn’t anything shady going on. Let’s do it.”

Her shoulders drop from where they’ve inched towards her ears. She tightens her grip in his. “Okay,” she says quietly. “For the kids.”

“For the kids,” he nods.

They kiss; It’s soft, and sad. Memories of betrayal and fear running through both their minds. Their foreheads touch gently, and they sit in the bright, artificial light and listen to each other’s breaths.

Tony opens his eyes and stares at his wife’s face, spotted with freckles and faint smile lines, and wonders for the thousandth time how he got to be so lucky.

After a few minutes, Pepper nudges her husband down from his place on the counter, and the two lovers make their way to their room. After Pepper finally coaxes Tony to sleep, she looks down at his face, relaxed, and resting safely against her chest. Her eyes trace over his dark lashes, his softly parted lips, his brows—so often furrowed in concentration, now slackened peacefully.

He takes in a deep breath, and tightens his grip around her waist in his sleep. And Pepper’s chest aches with overflowing love for this man. She realizes startlingly that she wants nothing more than to have a family with her husband. Images of Tony with a child resting on his hip as he putters around his workshop make her smile so wide it aches.

That’s a conversation for another time, she tells herself as she drifts off. They’ve got a big day tomorrow.


	2. Don't You See?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammer is just as annoying as Tony remembered. Luckily, there's suspicious blueprints, questionable precautions, and some intern here to entertain him.

As soon as the couple exit the plane, they’re assaulted with thick humidity and blinding sunlight. The dense greenery surrounding the tarmac alone is more vibrant than anything Tony has seen in New York. Heat emits from the asphalt in thick waves, and said billionaire can already feel sweat forming on his brow. Five hours from New York, and Tony is ready to go home.

Then there’s an obnoxious voice, “Welcome to the most beautiful place on Earth, Mr. and Mrs. Stark!” This just keeps getting better.

After slipping on sunglasses, Tony shakes the proffered hand. “Justin Hammer, a pleasure as always.”

He’s just as Tony remembers—brimming with nervous energy, sporting a too-wide smile and slick glasses. Despite the sweltering heat, he’s sporting a grey suit, jacket and all. Tony feels uneasiness creep up his spine. There is something off-putting about this man; His attempts to be charismatic have always come off as more manic than anything else.

The handshake is sweaty and stiff. Tony wipes his hand off on his jeans as Pepper and Justin exchange empty pleasantries. Finally, Hammer gestures towards the small aircraft hangar a hundred yards away. “Let’s get out of this heat, huh?”

***

Stane’s promised helicopter will arrive within the hour, and Tony is legitimately unsure he can last that long.

Hammer is feverishly praising the park and its potential with hands flapping enthusiastically while the billionaire relishes in the hangar’s shade. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a black suit jacket on top. If he wasn’t so stubborn, he would’ve thrown the jacket off the moment he stepped off the plane.

He’s debating doing it anyway when Hammer addresses him for the first time since the tarmac: “So, let’s get into the specifics, shall we?”

He pulls a binder out of seemingly nowhere and begins flipping through the thick stack of pages, “Here is a full compendium of the park’s structural specifications. Everything from hotel rooms to jeep tours is included here.” He hands them to Tony, it’s surprisingly heavy. “Your job is to answer the question: is the park safe?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, “That’s it?” Hammer nods. “Why not have, say, a safety inspector check this out? Or someone who has any experience at all with theme parks?”

Pepper elbows his side. He promised on the plane to play nice. “Well, this isn’t just an amusement park, Tony. We’re relying heavily on technology here. Optimally, the whole resort can be run with only 20 people.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but Hammer continues, “The central control room is fitted with the most up-to-date technology money can buy, and we’ve got top minds working on this. We just need you to sign off.”

“Well,” Tony sniffs, “I can’t guarantee anything. Safety has got to be the top priority here.”

Hammer nods, “Of course, of course.”

Suddenly, a hesitant voice interrupts, “Um, sir, you told me to let you know when the ‘copter is close?” Tony turns around; It’s a kid.

He’s scrawny, with curly brown hair and a kind demeanor. The t-shirt he’s sporting has “Let’s have a moment of science,” written in a bright green font. Tony decides on the spot that he likes him.

Hammer swaggers to the kid and slings an arm around his shoulders, either unaware of his obvious discomfort or electing to ignore it. “What the ETA?”

“Um, 10 minutes, sir.” Hammer nods.

“Well, in the meantime let me introduce you to my intern, Mr. Parkinson—”

“—Parker—”

“—Yes, yes, Parker, I mean.”

The kid is trying painfully hard not to stare at the couple, but Tony can tell he’s suppressing fanboying on the spot. There’s a faint blush across his cheeks, and Tony smiles.

“Nice to meet ya kid, I’m Tony.” He extends his hand, and purposefully stands further back than necessary. The Parker kid catches on quick and gratefully steps out of Hammer’s grasp.

“Peter Parker, sir. It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark,” He breathes, shaking hands enthusiastically.

He manages to tear his eyes away from the billionaire, and turns to Pepper. With the same look of awe, he meets her extended hand with his own. “And you, Mrs. Potts.” She gives him a smile, and the poor kid flushes scarlet.

“Hammer Industries’ intern program is very prestigious,” Hammer cuts in, “getting in is an arduous process, but Pete here passed with flying colors.” Tony looks to the kid, but he’s staring determinedly at the ground. “Only fifteen, and chosen to accompany me on this trip! What a privilege, eh, Pete?”

The kid’s eyes flick from Tony’s to Justin’s. “Oh, absolutely, sir,” he replies.

Hammer launches into another spiel about how the resort accepts nothing but the best of everything, be it interns, or military-level security, or blah blah blah. Honestly, Tony has become an expert at tuning him out.

While Pepper nods politely along to his ramblings, Tony pulls the kid off to the side. “So,” he says, “Justin’s personal intern, huh? What’s that like?”

Peter’s eyes widen. He looks stunned that the billionaire has willingly started a conversation with him. “It’s, uh, well it’s…”

“Hellish?” Tony finishes for him with a knowing smirk.

The kid barks out a surprised laugh, “No! I-it’s not…” He seems to struggle internally for a moment before deflating a bit. “Yeah,” he laughs, “it is.”

Tony let’s out a laugh, not caring that Pepper is staring at him pointedly. He’ll apologize for abandoning her later. “Hopefully you’re being well compensated, though?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah. I mean—yes. I’m paid well,” Peter stutters out. “Um, sir?” He stares at the ground for a moment before meeting Tony’s eyes with a determined expression, “I, uh, I wanted to show you something. I think it’s important.”

“Oh?” Tony replies. He briefly hopes it’s not some weird homemade craft homage to him. The kid doesn’t seem weird enough for that, but you’d be surprised how often it’s happened.

Instead, the kid pulls out his phone—his screen riddled with cracks—and opens a news article. “My friend Ned sent this to me a few days ago. I just thought you should know.”

He hands the phone to the billionaire. The heading reads: _Mysterious Lizard Attacks Plague West Coast, Costa Rica_. Tony scans the article. It reports on something called a “procompsognathus,” and its new discovery. He shakes his head, confused at the lack of relevance. Why did the kid want him to see this?

Peter seems to catch on to his confusion. “A procompsognathid is a _dinosaur_ , Mr. Stark.” There’s a silence as the intern waits for his reaction, but it still elicits none. “Don’t you see?” He continues desperately, “they’re popping up _off the island_! You have to stop this—”

“Kid,” the billionaire finally interrupts, “I’m not getting what this has to do with anything.”

A beat. “Wait,” Peter finally croaks out. “You… you don’t know anything about this yet, do you?”

Before Tony can give him another confused reply, the thunderous sound of a helicopter rotor reaches his ears, and Hammer appears next to Peter. He places a hand on the kid’s shoulder, and squeezes a bit too harshly.

“Ah ah ah!” The man says loudly, “You’re not giving away anything are you? We wanted this to be a _surprise_!”

“No, sir!” Peter squeaks out, shrinking immediately.

And suddenly it’s too late for Tony to interrogate the kid further; The helicopter has arrived.

***

The aircraft will fly them to the actual park, as it’s apparently in a very remote part of the island. Pepper and Tony sit side-by-side, and he squeezes her hand as they begin takeoff. He’s never been a fan of these things.

Hammer and Peter sit across from the couple, the kid with a white-knuckled grip on the armrests, and the businessman with carefully schooled expression. Apparently, _no one_ is a fan of these things.

The pilot’s voice crackles through their headsets, “ _This should be an 18 minute flight, provided this fog bank continues to dissipate. Expect some light rain when we land._ ” Tony feels Pepper sigh beside him, but, for once, Tony is grateful for tropical weather’s unpredictability—temperatures above 70 degrees should be illegal.

As muffled white noise sounds through the headset, Tony mulls over his conversation with the kid. What did a supposed dinosaur discovery have to do with a resort? And why did he feel it was so important for the billionaire to know?

Pushing those questions away for later, Tony begins flipping through the park schematics. It begins with the resort hotel rooms, but quickly becomes more technically complicated as it goes on. He’s idly scanning a blueprint for a twenty foot tall mechanized front gate, when something catches his eye.

A diagram of a fifty foot tall electrified fence.

_What the fuck?_

He nudges Pepper, shoving the binder in front of her face. Sure enough, he sees her mouth, _what the fuck?_ ~~He really loves her sometimes.~~ Then, she points questioningly to another diagram.

It’s a _moat_. An honest-to-God _moat_. And that’s not all.

Page after page is filled with different enclosures, fences with varying voltages, and even a full inventory of _guns_. As he reads through the list, however, he doesn’t recognize a majority of the models. Thank God he doesn’t. They don’t need military-level weaponry, no matter what kind of resort this is.

_“Beginning our descent.”_

Their focus is ripped from the blueprints as quick streaks of green foliage begin appearing around them. The windows are covered in water droplets. Now circling the landing pad, Tony can clearly see the environment around them: It’s jungle as far as the eye can see.

A large, smooth tree towers above the greenery. It doesn’t have leaves. He’s about to ask the pilot if he knows what species it is, when suddenly it _moves_.

The kid’s words echo through his head as he discerns a long neck, a thick head, and glistening brownish-greenish skin: “ _Don’t you_ _see_?” He swallows thickly, and feels Pepper gasp.

That isn’t a tree.

It’s a dinosaur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a little early this week! Woo! Just one more chapter until we get into some action.
> 
> Fun-- and a little gory-- Fact:  
> A procompsognathus is the first dinosaur to appear in the Jurassic Park novel. It viciously bites a girl's arms, and its saliva sends her into anaphylactic shock. Later, a group of them tear apart a newborn baby.


	3. An "Introduction"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Stane turns and begins walking briskly towards one of the center’s many doors. “I think the first person you meet," he calls over his shoulder, "ought to be Mr. DNA.” He sounds amused.

The second the helicopter touches down, Tony tears off his seatbelt and yanks the door open. He’s thankful for his suit jacket now: the thick fog has transformed into a steady drizzle of rain. Pepper is calling out to him as he stomps forward, but his focus is solely on the man waiting smugly across the launchpad.

Obadiah Stane stands patiently, a dark umbrella in hand, as Tony marches up to him. “Tell me I didn’t just see what I think I saw,” Tony spits out. The rain is stinging his eyes, and his hands are curled into shaking fists.

He learned once that anger is a secondary emotion: It’s often a cover for another feeling, like sadness, or stress.

Or fear.

Underneath his greying beard, Stane smiles. A chill runs through Tony, unrelated to his now-soaked clothes. “Ah,” he says, sounding amused, “you’ve met our brontosauruses, have you?”

Tony’s thoughts are quickly spiraling as he tries to come up with a response. He’s teetering between the scientist side of him—which is begging for some answers of how the _hell_ this is possible—and the more panicked side of him, which is fluttering through the diagrams of _electric fences_.

He settles on a good, old-fashioned, “What the _fuck_ , Obie.”

Now face-to-face, Tony can see the effect his nickname has on the man. He’s pleased to see his eye twitch in annoyance. Nonetheless, Stane lets out a chuckle, “Understand why I was so wrapped up in my project now?”

The billionaire is stepping forward, a hand pointing accusingly as he prepares to unleash every four-letter word in his vocabulary, but is stopped by a placating hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Pepper, his saving grace, standing by his side. Hammer is behind her, his arm outstretched as he awkwardly holds an umbrella over her head. “Tony,” she says, her voice steady, “let’s talk about this inside, okay?” He hears the subtext: take a moment to calm down. We can handle this.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a few moments, and eventually Tony gives her a terse nod. “Okay!” Hammer exclaims, bursting through the silence, “How about a tour, huh?”

***

The visitor’s center is a huge, open-spaced building with a towering ceiling made of glass. Lightning flashes occasionally, and makes the white walls glow briefly. Though Mr. Hammer hastily handed him an umbrella as they exited the helicopter, Peter still managed to get decently soaked on the landing pad. He shivers in the air-conditioned room, figuring it’s probably the perfect temperature on _sunny_ days.

A massive T-Rex statue stands proudly as the room’s centerpiece; It’s mouth is stretched open in a roar, showcasing its gleaming white teeth. There’s a winding staircase that leads all the way above its head, but there’s still some scaffolding around. Maybe for some unfinished painting, or something.

A banner flutters above their heads, it reads, “WHEN DINOSAURS RULED THE EARTH,” in large read letters.

While everyone shuffles inside the building, Peter can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the T-Rex. Something instinctual, deep within him instructs him to run—to get away from the predator.

He would feel silly if there wasn’t a live specimen of this monster not 2 miles from them.

Though he’s never visited the park before, he’s managed to study a lot of its design. He knows where the enclosures begin, the height of each one, and even the voltage of the surrounding fences.

Rain patters quietly against the glass above his head. It’s sort of soothing, but Peter is too anxious to appreciate its beauty at the moment.

He hears the door shut behind them, and turns to the group. Mr. Hammer’s cheerful façade has cracked slightly: a strained smile is on his face, but his nervousness is obvious. Mrs. Potts is standing stiffly a few feet behind him, with Mr. Stark by her side. He looks _livid_.

He had exchanged some words with Mr. Stane on the landing pad, but Peter’s respectful distance away mixed with the rain washed them away before he could catch any of them. In any case, he’s glad the billionaire is taking this seriously; He’s tired of Mr. Hammer’s relentless optimism, and blind eye toward any criticism of the park’s safety.

There is a tense silence as the adults fold their umbrellas closed. Mr. Stark pointedly wrings out his suit jacket, causing water to cascade onto the spotless tile. Peter realizes his t-shirt reads, “reenignE esreveR” across the chest, and his respect for the man rises impossibly higher. “Alright,” the billionaire growls, “anyone want to enlighten me on what the _fuck_ is going on here?”

“Tony,” Mrs. Potts murmurs warningly. The two had talked quietly on the walk here, and Peter suspects it might have included a lecture on acting a bit more diplomatically.

Mr. Stane smiles, “I know, it’s a shock at first. I’d planned on being open from the beginning, but Mr. Hammer here insisted on an element of surprise.” He gives the businessman a look.

Mr. Hammer’s smile becomes even tighter. “Come on!” He exclaims. His eyes are jumping from person to person frantically. “You of all people understand the power of a dramatic reveal, Tony,” He says defensively.

“The dramatic reveal is _so_ not what we should be focusing on,” Mrs. Potts snaps. “How did you manage to go so far as to engineer these creatures _before_ asking for help with proper security?” She’s shifted into her business voice. Though the question was aimed at Mr. Stane, Mr. Hammer visibly shrinks at her tone.

_She’s so cool_ , Peter thinks to himself.

Mr. Stane scoffs, “Don’t flatter yourself, Pep.” ~~She glares at him, and Mr. Hammer shrinks even more.~~ “We’ve had the best minds working on this—”

“—Stop saying that,” Mr. Stark snaps. “We’re done with the dramatics. It’s time for specifics, Stane. I want names, I want… actually,” He cuts himself off for a moment, “I want _introductions_. Right now.”

_Oh_ , Peter realizes, _He thinks Mr. Stane is bluffing_.

The two men are glowering at each other, and just when Peter thinks that neither are _ever_ going to back down, Mr. Stane seems to force himself to relax. “Alright,” He says stiffly. “Hammer was dead set on giving you a traditional tour, but I think we can make an exception.”

Mr. Stark gives him a firm nod. Mr. Hammer is still cowering in the background.

Mr. Stane turns and begins walking briskly towards one of the center’s many doors. “I think the first person you meet," he calls over his shoulder, "ought to be Mr. DNA, wouldn’t you say, Justin?” He sounds amused.

And just like that, the façade snaps back in place. “Oh,” he stumbles out, “yes, I think that would be best.”

***

They’re led into a theater, of sorts. The abrupt change in lighting makes Peter blink harshly for a few moments. In here, the roaring rain is muted, and he sighs in relief. They didn’t need that white noise on top of everything else going on.

Mr. Stane invites them to take a seat. Mr. Stark gives him a suspicious look before clambering into one of the leather chairs, followed by Mrs. Potts. When Mr. Hammer remains standing, Peter does as well. He wonders when this internship had turned him into the business man’s shadow.

“Oh, Preston,” Mr. Hammer says, looking down at him. Peter doesn’t bother correcting him. “I forgot you were here.” Mrs. Potts makes a noise of disapproval, and Peter isn’t sure if it’s directed at him, or the man beside him. Either way, he feels his face turn red.

“Sorry, sir,” He says uncertainly. How is he supposed to respond to that?

“Well,” His boss sighs, “how about you stay here with the Starks? Answer any additional questions they may have.”

He’s well aware that Hammer is using this as an excuse to get rid of him for a bit, but he doesn’t care. He'd love a break from him, as well. With a carefully schooled expression, he nods. He makes his way to Mrs. Potts, and leaves an empty seat between them.

“This sequence runs on a timer,” Mr. Stane explains, “to give folks time to come in and sit down, so it won’t start for another five minutes or so. Hammer and I will let our team know you’re coming, and you three enjoy the ride.” Without another word, Hammer and Stane leave the room.

There’s an awkward silence, then Mr. Stark sighs. “An introduction. I just wanted an introduction," he grumbles, "but no. Apparently it’s essential we partake in this little joyride first.”

Mrs. Potts ignores him, and turns to Peter. “Hi,” she says with a smile, “we don’t bite, you know?” She pats the empty seat next to her.

Peter sheepishly scoots over. “Sorry,” he says quietly. Her voice is much kinder now than it was earlier, but the teen can’t help but feel shy. It’s Pepper-fucking-Potts!

“It’s Peter, isn’t it? Not Preston?” She asks once he’s settled.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies quietly.

She nods thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m sorry you’ve gotten swept up in all of this. I’m sure this isn’t what you signed up for.” She sounds genuinely apologetic.

“Oh, n-no,” he stutters out, “I mean—no, I don’t mind. Being here, I mean.” He’s grateful for the dim lighting, he can feel his cheeks heating up again.

Mrs. Potts gives him a small smile.

“Well, kid,” Mr. Stark finally speaks up, “any idea what we’re in for here?”

“Um,” Peter says, internally groaning at his lack of eloquence, “It starts with a video, sir.” _Idiot!_ “An, um, explanation of how the dinosaurs were biologically engineered. But, it’s geared towards kids, so it doesn’t explain the Loy antibody extraction technique very in-depth.”

The billionaire stares at him for a moment. “Actually,” he says, looking interested, “I’m not too familiar with that process. You mind explaining it to me?”

The boy’s jaw nearly drops. He can’t help but feel relieved that this is where the conversation has turned; he can’t do small-talk, but _science_ -talk? That he can do. “Of course!” He squeaks.

“It’s pretty cool,” he begins excitedly, “Soluble protein is leached out during the fossilization process, but the extraction technique makes _twenty percent_ of the proteins recoverable! So the DNA is straight from dinosaur bones!”

“With what kind of yield?” Mr. Stark asks.

“Well, the technology they have here is advanced enough that it can detect even low-abundance DNA targets with crazy-high accuracy. So, the lyo-ready CG DNA polymerase from fossils can be constructed in a form that’s compatible with lyophilization. That way, ground-up bones can produce, like, fifty-billionths of a gram, which is _huge_ in terms of DNA structure.”

The billionaire nods thoughtfully, “but that isn’t enough to reconstruct an entire specimen.”

“Right,” Peter continues, “that’s why they use an adapted version of Loy’s technique, _and_ the nearly complete DNA strands they found in the mosquitoes.”

“Mosquitoes?” Mrs. Potts questions.

“Yeah,” Peter replies, “It’ll talk about them more in this video, I think.”

The lights begin to fade to black, and Peter catches the couple exchanging a look. They’re smiling, so Peter guesses he didn’t ramble _too_ much.

_Please place your hands on your lap as the bar moves into place_ , a robotic-sounding voice booms from the speakers around the room.

They move as instructed and lap bars fall into place. Cartoony music begins to swell, Peter can hear Mr. Stark groan dramatically. An animated figure made up of multi-colored dots, large cartoon eyes, and a smile with buck teeth comes into view. “Howdy!” He says in a thick southern accent, “I’m Mr. DNA!”

“ _Bastard_ ,” Mr. Stark mumbles. It takes Peter a second to realize it’s not directed at ‘Mr. DNA,’ but at Mr. Stane.

“I live in your blood! Just one drop of your blood contains billions of strands of DNA, the building blocks of life!” The background shifts to a picture of a blueprint as he continues, “A DNA strand like me is a blueprint for building a living thing! And sometimes animals that went extinct millions of years ago, like dinosaurs—” Peter huffs out a laugh at his pronunciation: ‘dah-no-saw-rs’—“left blueprints for us to find! We just had to know where to look!”

The animation styles shifts as the scene changes to a pre-historic jungle. “Hundreds of years ago,” Mr. DNA continues, “there were mosquitoes, just like today.” The camera zooms in on a mosquito flittering around, “and, just like today, they fed on the blood of animals. Even dinosaurs!

“Sometimes, after biting a dinosaur, the mosquito would land on a branch of a tree, and get stuck in the sap!” The mosquito lands in the tree sap, and gets stuck, and so does Mr. DNA. He tugs his ‘legs,’ but they stay stuck.

“Whoa!” The animation cries, and the sap flows over him and the mosquito completely. “After a long time,” Mr. DNA SHOUTS from inside, “the tree sap would get hard and become fossilized, just like a dinosaur bone, preserving the mosquito inside!”

Peter’s attention is pulled from the screen as he hears Mr. Stark grunt. He’s trying to push the bar off of his lap. “Alright,” he grunts again, “I see where this is going. Let’s get out of here and see those labs.”

“Oh, I think it’ll get to that in a bit…” Peter says.

“I am—“ _grunt_ , “—the owner of—“ _grunt_ , “—the most successful tech company in the world.” He stops pushing and runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Pretty sure the _least_ those idiots owe me is a face-to-face explanation from those ‘top minds’ they keep talking about.” He presses against it once more with the same results. “Plus, you know your stuff, Kid. You can catch us up on anything we miss here.”

Peter’s chest warms immediately. _The_ Mr. Stark said he knows his stuff!

He can’t wait to tell Ned about this.

With the chittering of Mr. DNA in the background, the three manage to push the bars upwards, and follow the billionaire as he marches out the door. As Peter glances up at the neon green EXIT sign, he hopes briefly that Mr. Hammer won’t be angry at him for doing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned to do a lot more with this chapter :-/ But I'm heading back to college tomorrow, and packing took up more time than I thought.
> 
> Thank you all for your kind comments!!!! Every time I see one, I can't stop smiling for, like, and hour! :-)
> 
> I took the video dialogue right from the movie! Sorry to plagiarize, haha, but I thought it would be funny to subject Tony to that stupid cartoon DNA strand.
> 
> Next chapter we'll meet some more characters, and they'll begin the jeep tour! I promise it'll really pick up after that.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Meet the Raptors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He throws his research to the ground in a flurry of papers, throws open the office door, and snarls out, “I quit.”
> 
> He’d have loved to see the look on Stark’s face, but he knew he needed to walk away before his urge to wring the man’s neck became reality.
> 
> And of course, his research, his years of work, is ripped away from him within the same week. Some bullshit about using company resources to develop it, so it belongs to the company now. Belongs to Stark, now.
> 
> But in the end, it doesn’t matter. Stark can have his little ‘therapy’ tech. See if it’ll help him with Quinten’s next project.
> 
> OR
> 
> Some new faces-- some good, some bad.  
> Some human, some monstrous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The end of this chapter contains some gore. Nothing explicit, but there are mentions of mauling and blood. Be warned.

_“I have an appointment with Mr. Stark?” His hands are sweaty and his face is flushed. He’s been preparing for this day for months now, and it doesn’t help that Stark’s secretary is one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever seen._

_“Alright, name?” She’s staring at him expectantly, he swallows hard. She seems attentive, but her makeup can only conceal so much of her exhaustion. Of course Stark would take someone as extraordinary as this and drain them for everything they have. He’s heard rumors and seen interviews—the man has an ego a mile long._

_“Beck,” he replies with a smile, “Quinten Beck.”_

_He remembers the meeting in short bursts of vivid detail mixed with smears of faded emotions: nervousness, excitement, anger._

_The billionaire is much different than he pictured. Where he’d initially imagined charisma and poise is exhaustion and hesitancy. Stane unexpectedly quit just a week ago, and Quinten wonders if the stress of running a company is really enough to wear someone down like this? The bags under his eyes match the secretary’s. Maybe they’re sleeping together._

_Regardless of the stress emanating from Stark, Quinten is confident this will go well. His idea is genius, he knows it is; Virtual reality is an undervalued concept, and it’s possibilities are endless. When this project is approved, he’s going to be known as the man who ended physical war, and began mental assaults._

_It’ll be a huge turning point in history, and things will never—_

_“No.”_

_Here’s where it all gets fuzzy. There’s ringing in his ears and blood rushing to his face. Stark’s voice sounds far away._

_“For one thing, it’s inhumane, Mr. Beck. For another, I’m sure this can be classified as a war crime. And besides, between you and me, there are some big changes coming to S.I. We’re stepping away from weaponry…”_

_He goes on about his designs and the more ‘practical’ or ‘therapeutic’ ways it can be put to use. Shock is replaced with anger, and Quinten loses his temper._

_He throws his research to the ground in a flurry of papers, throws open the office door, and snarls out, “I quit.”_

_He’d have loved to see the look on Stark’s face, but he knew he needed to walk away before his urge to wring the man’s neck became reality._

_And of course, his research, his years of work, is ripped away from him within the same week. Some bullshit about using company resources to develop it, so it belongs to the company now. Belongs to Stark, now._

_But in the end, it doesn’t matter. Stark can have his little ‘therapy’ tech. See if it’ll help him with Quinten’s next project._

***

The intern brings them into the main control room. It’s not how it looks in the movies, no blinking lights or panels of knobs. It actually resembles a computer lab. There are several rows of computers, all lit up and whirring quietly. There are a few maintenance boxes on the walls, but it really isn’t as remarkable as one would assume. The doors are reinforced with massive locks, and steal barriers, if needed. This is the most secure part of the facility.

Although Quinten has been waiting months for this moment, he doesn’t even notice when they enter the room.

He’s running the enumeration program again at Stane’s ~~command~~ request, although he’s certain it is faultless. The results are always the same; It searches for 238 dinosaurs, and it finds 238 dinosaurs. Everything is running smoothly.

“Nice operation you’ve got going on here.”

The voice makes him start, and he turns to see Stark strolling through the aisles of computers towards him. “Though, if I’m being honest,” the man continues, “I wasn’t expecting this room to be near-empty when we walked in.”

He’s dressed in one of those stupid t-shirts, some jeans, and black sneakers, but he swaggers forward like he owns the place. Though annoyed, Quinten has to admit his ability to command a room is impressive. “Just me, today,” Quinten replies loudly, “but my programs are far more effective than any team of engineers could _ever_ be.”

There’s a short silence as Stark raises a brow at him, and he stares back defiantly. He isn’t bluffing or bragging. It’s the truth.

Then the secretary’s voice cuts in, “Well, _our_ job is to determine if that’s true. Introduce yourself, please.”

Still sitting in his computer chair, he swivels in her direction. She stands tall with freckles peppered across her cheeks and her golden hair in an updo. He spies the ring on her finger and feels his loathing for Stark rise. He forces an easy smile, “Oh, you don’t remember me?”

The couple exchange a look. “Refresh our memories,” Stark says.

“Beck,” he bites out bitterly, “Quinten Beck. Don’t know why I thought you’d remember the mind behind the B.A.R.F. project.”

There’s a small noise behind them, and the three adults turn to the teen who has been watching the exchange silently. He shrinks under their gaze, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Quinten smiles manically at him, “the name is ridiculous, isn’t it?” He’s glaring daggers at Stark.

“Um, no,” the intern replies. “That wasn’t—I’ve heard of the tech before, but I’m pretty sure it was developed by Doctor Steven Strange, right? The neurosurgeon? I read about him and Mr. Stark working together on the project.”

Stark quirks a brow, “you read up on that?” The kid nods emphatically. “Huh,” the billionaire smiles, “and here I was thinking you were _just_ a dinosaur nerd. That’s some advanced stuff, kid.” Said intern blushes fiercely.

“January 10, 2008, Stark,” Quinten cuts in, finally standing from his chair, “the day I presented my advanced VR, and the day I left Stark Industries. Also the day _years’_ worth of research was taken from me.”

Stark gives him a stern look. “You and I both know that research was in the rudimentary stages. Props to you for the idea, but the application was done entirely by Strange and myself.”

Quinten is counting in his head; He needs to calm down. This won’t work if he doesn’t calm down. _Ten… nine… eight…_

He’s struggling to find a non-confrontational reply, when Ms. Secretary beats him to it. “Regardless of whose idea it was, it’s in the past. Let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?” It’s phrased as a question, but definitely comes out as more of a threat than anything.

_Three… two… one_. “Of course, Mrs. Stark,” he smiles carefully. He can feel Stark continuing to glare at him as he sits and turns back to his screen. “Let me introduce you to our system.

“It’s Multi-XMP, which I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you. The database holds around three billion records, everything from RAM intensive algorithms to DNA analyses.” He turns, “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s jump into the nitty gritty,” Stark replies easily, “what’s the protocol in emergency situations?”

Quinten raises an eyebrow: who knew the guy was so paranoid? “I’m assuming you mean failures of enclosures, specifically?” The billionaire nods.

“Well, Mr. Stark,” he begins grandly, “we’ve covered all the bases. The electric fences have up to 10,000 volts, and are programmed to remain charged at all times. If a strand so much as flickers, we’ll be alerted immediately.

“Then there’s the military expert, of course. We’ve got everything from Hammer Industry taser rifles, to inject models, to renegade rifles, which have all been proven to be effective against the dinos, and are well stocked—”

“Who is he?” Stark interrupts.

He swallows his annoyance. “What do you mean?”

“The ‘expert.’ Who is he?”

Quinten rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, Stark. Like I said, we covered all the bases. We recruited America’s golden boy. He hasn’t failed us yet.”

Stark looks skeptical, “I’d like an introduction.”

“Well,” Quinten drawls, “you’ll have to wait a bit, Stark. He’s a busy man—”

And for the second time in what can’t be more than sixty seconds, he’s interrupted. This time, by a figure at the door.

***

Tony has three simultaneous thoughts when the man enters the room. The first is a jolting sense of recognition, followed by joyful surprise, and an overwhelming sense of _relief_.

Leaning against the doorway—sporting cargo pants, combat boots, and a smirk—is James Rhodes.

“Hey, Tones,” he says with a wink.

And without thinking of the repercussions, or the years of separation, Tony lurches forwards and pulls him into a hug.

He hears Beck make a noise of confusion, but he doesn’t care. “You _bastard_ ,” the billionaire says as he pulls away, “ _this_ is why you couldn’t come with us to Malibu?!”

Rhodey laughs and takes off his cap, “I knew you’d be pissed.” He shakes his head and smiles, “I’ve missed you, Tones.”

Pepper steps forward and wraps her arms around Rhodey next. Tony’s heart melts a little at the display: his two favorite people here together.

“It’s so good to see you, Jim!” Pep says with a squeeze. “Thank God you’re here, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to be straight with us about this place.” They separate, and Tony shoots Beck a pointed look.

“And I wouldn’t trust anyone else to give a damn about anything but profit,” Rhodey replies. “Man, I’ve got a lot to tell you about this place—”

“ _There_ you are!” An overly cheerful voice booms. _God_ , he hates this guy. “We’ve been searching all over! Seems you _slipped_ out of our tour room.” Hammer directs this towards Peter, who looks sheepish.

Tony shrugs, “It was going a little slow for me.” Rhodey is stifling a laugh.

“Well,” Hammer continues, looking annoyed, “how’s about we continue on, huh? Let’s take a look at—”

“The raptors,” Rhodey finishes.

“Yes, the—wait, what?” Hammer has turned pale. “I don’t think that’s really necessary.”

“What?” Tony cuts in, “you unsure about their containment measures?”

Rhodey nods, but Hammer stammers out, “n-no! I, it’s just… they’re not exactly _friendly_ creatures…”

“Exactly why they need to take a look,” Rhodey says firmly. “Let’s go.”

***

Peter isn’t 100% sure who James Rhodes is, but he takes an immediate liking to him.

The man has an air of no-nonsense about him, but is able to match Mr. Stark’s quips and teasing easily. If he had to guess, he’d say the two of them met in college. So not only is the man self-assured and witty, but he also must be very intelligent.

They leave the control room and Mr. Hammer behind. Peter knows he has a particular distaste for the raptors. He pulls him aside before he can follow the Starks and the Colonel, and instructs him to keep them on task this time. “If they slip away again,” he murmurs threateningly, “you’ll be on the next plane out of here.”

Peter can feel his hair reacting to the humidity the second they exit the building—it always turns into wild curls that May insists are adorable, and he stubbornly attempts to tame. The rain has stopped, but it looks like it could start up again any minute. Thankfully, it’s a short walk from the center to the enclosure.

Mr. Stark and Rhodes are chatting emphatically with each other ahead while Mrs. Potts walks behind with Peter. It smells of fresh plants after rain.

“They’re like an old married couple,” Mrs. Potts says fondly as she watches the two bicker.

Peter laughs, and she goes on, “Tony trusts him with his life. He’s a good man, he’ll make sure this place is safe.”

She looks at him gently, and he hears the subtext: the colonel will make sure _we’re_ safe. He realizes he’s been wringing his hands nervously. Shoving them into his jean pockets, he gives her a nod, and she smiles in return.

“This is it right here,” the Colonel says over his shoulder, and points to the approaching structure.

It’s made entirely of thick metal and concrete. There’s a few stairs that lead up to the enclosure walls, which are topped with electric fences. The humming of the electricity definitely doesn’t help his nerves. Despite the heat and humidity, he’s covered in goosebumps.

“They tried making an area more suited for viewing,” the Colonel says as they each approach the walls, “but the raptors became too aggressive.”

_Why?_ Peter wonders. Then the adults turn to him, and he realizes he must’ve spoken aloud. “I mean,” he stutters out, “why don’t they like humans if they’ve never been threatened by one?”

Colonel Rhodes tilts his head a bit, “good question, kid.” He points towards the opposite wall, “you see over there? That blocked off door?” Peter nods. “Well, we used to open the doors to feed them, to give them some human interaction. That way they’d grow used to us.

“But after a few times, they started attacking the doors when feeding time came, like they’d memorized the schedule. So we started a rotation, and used the other doors at random. Same thing—the door would open, and they’d lunge at you.

“I keep telling them, these things don’t care about the food, they care about the _hunt_.”

“Woah,” Peter whispers.

He smirks in return, “yeah, _woah_.”

There’s a sudden screech of metal on metal, and Peter nearly jumps out of his skin. Mrs. Potts immediately puts a steadying hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry, that’s just the new feeding method,” Rhodes says placatingly.

They watch as a crane whirrs to life and begins lower a steer, wrapped in a harness and attached to a thick cable, into the pen. It hasn’t even entered the layer of foliage, but there’s already a cacophony of growling from inside.

Mrs. Potts still hasn’t let go of his arm.

There’s a _snap_. A _crunch_. Sounds of wet flesh and bone being torn apart.

Then a bone-chilling silence.

And the air is filled with the sounds of the breeze and the bugs once again.

They sit there in a horrified silence for a time, until Rhodes speaks again, “They want to put them on display for _kids_.”

Mr. Stark, who’s been uncharacteristically silent throughout this, stands with his hands against the wall, his gaze fixed on the crane as it slowly raises up the now empty and bloody harness. “We’re going to shut this down before that happens.” His voice is scarily quiet. For the first time, Peter realizes why some people are scared of Mr. Stark.

They follow the billionaire as he presses away from the wall, and begins descending the steps. “I’m sure Hammer will be happy to hear that we’re ready to take that jeep tour now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late! D-: Sorrryyyyyyyy  
> Started college and my nannying job this week, and it's been hectic as heck. I think I'll get the next chapter out on Tues though, bc we're finally moving on to stuff that's more fun to write. :-)
> 
> I want to make it clear that the characters in this fic won't be completely parallel to the ones in the movie/book. Mainly, the ppl who die in the book/movie won't necessarily die in here.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Pls leave a comment, I thrive off of validation :'-)


	5. You'll Find What You Look For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet two of Jurassic Park's most terrifying creatures: the tyrannosaurus rex, and Doctor Olivia Octavius.
> 
> or
> 
> Time to begin the jeep tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is soooooo late! Sorrysorrysorry!
> 
> But I'm soooooo happy with how this chapter turned out!
> 
> This one shifts points of view like 7 times throughout, which was necessary for the chapter, but I promise the following chapters won't do that so much :-)
> 
> thank you for everyone who is reading and commenting! Ya'll keep me going!!! <3

Jurassic Park is an accident waiting to happen. A _massacre_ waiting to happen. They’re on the clock to shut this thing down, before more “lizards” escape the island, before something inevitably falls apart. So, they come to an agreement. Pepper and James will stay and talk biology with the geneticist, while Tony checks out the dinosaurs themselves. They’ll take recordings and pictures, and generally gather as much information as possible.

Pepper hates this. Tony would catch on to the genetic side of things much faster than anyone else, but he refuses to let her go on the jeep tour. And that’s how she knows things are much worse than she realized.

Standing just inside the doors of the visitor’s center, Pepper pulls her husband into her arms, her forehead resting on his shoulder. “Be careful,” she mumbles into the fabric.

They sit like that for a moment, taking in each other’s presence. She has this awful feeling she won’t be able to do this again for a long while.

Eventually, Tony reluctantly pulls away and rests his palm softly on her cheek. “Don’t worry about me,” he murmurs. His eyes are pleading. “Watch out for Stane. I haven’t seen him in hours.”

They both jump as a shrill whistle rings out behind them. “Wrap it up, lovebirds!” Hammer calls to them, his voice unnecessarily loud for being just ten yards away from them. He’s tapping his watch and his foot like an impatient cartoon character.

Pepper sets her hand over Tony’s. They look at each other urgently. “Make sure Peter is okay,” she says, stepping further into the room.

He steps closer to the doors and nods. “And you don’t go anywhere without Rhodey.” She nods back.

Tony, Hammer, and Peter head out into the pouring rain, and she sets off towards the genetics lab.

Something catches her eye before she can leave, though. She stops for a moment and stares at that looming t-rex statue. And for a split second, she sees thick maroon liquid dripping down it’s snout, and feels her stomach drop.

She gives her head a shake, and it’s gone.

But that jolting terror remains.

***

Tony, Hammer, and Peter make their way to the jeeps as the rain pounds harshly against their umbrellas. Mud clings to Tony’s boots, and he’s grateful Pep talked him into changing—his suit coat takes _hours_ to dry. Now he’s dressed in khakis and a thin button up. He wipes rain out of his eyes and strains to hear Hammer’s grating voice above its roar. Tony thinks he’s yelling something about the mechanics of the tour, but his voice is washed away quickly.

It doesn’t matter. Tony already has an idea of the setup.

He spots two modified Ford Explorers waiting for them on an off road. The headlights are on. Just a few meters ahead of the cars is a massive gate—the one he saw in the blueprints earlier. It feels like it’s looming _miles_ above them, but he recalls that it’s only 20ft tall. It’s painted with an obnoxious logo, which reads, “WELCOME TO JURASSIC PARK” in bold, red letters. They’re approaching the cars now, and he spots matching logos on each of the doors.

A metallic glint on the ground ahead catches his eye. He slows as Hammer continues trudging towards the cars and investigates. He’s vaguely aware that the kid has stopped beside him.

It’s a thick metal rail in the middle of the road. Now that he’s paying attention, he can hear a quiet buzz of electricity; The cars must follow the track automatically. Smart? Sure. Safe? Not so much.

“The tracks,” Tony calls to Peter, “that’s, what, 600 volts of electricity? How do they plan on keeping kids off of it?”

The kid’s nose is pink, and he looks _freezing_. His hair is matted to his head. “I think the plan was just to add some spiel about safety in that ‘Mr. DNA’ video,” he shivers, “and add a ton of ‘caution: high voltage’ signs around this area.”

“Ah,” Tony grins at him, “an absolutely foolproof solution.”

Peter laughs.

Hammer has finally noticed their absence. He’s waving at the two of them and gesturing towards the car. Time to go.

“Here we go,” Tony murmurs to the kid.

Their tracks are washed from the muddy ground almost instantly. The door handle is slick, and the leather seats squeak with their movements.

Hammer shuts the door behind them.

***

Pepper presses her lips together, “I don’t like this.”

The lab door is made of glass, but the view inside is obscured with a large sign: _CAUTION BIOLOGICAL HAZARD_. It’s all white walls and sterile smells.

James breathes deeply at her side. “Me neither,” he murmurs, and pushes the door open.

More white walls. Dozens of stations filled with sharp instruments. Blinding artificial lights.

They’ve only just stepped into the room, but they’re immediately met with an excited voice: “You’re just in time!”

The lone woman in the room—where _is_ everyone?— is dressed in a lab coat and what looks to be thick rubber gloves. She’s preoccupied with something in her hands. Pepper thinks for a moment that she is wearing safety goggles, but after a closer look, they appear to be overly-large glasses. She doesn’t look up from her project as she calls to them, “Come! Come here!”

An egg. She’s holding an egg.

It’s much larger than a chicken’s: light tan with brown spots. There are cracks spreading across its surface.

“Closer!” The woman beckons, this time actually looking in their direction.

Now nearly leaning against the countertop, Pepper can see the egg shifting and shaking slightly. Something is pressing harder and harder on the layer of shell.

“You’re lucky,” the woman says, almost reverently, “I haven’t been allowed to breed another raptor for a long while.”

“Wait,” James says, looking at her urgently, “this is a _raptor_? I thought they’d stopped—”

“Shh! Look, she’s nearly there…”

And just like that, a tiny snout presses through. Then little eyes, a little neck…

Little claws.

Pepper has to admit, it’s cute. Adorable, even. But she can still hear the wet snapping of bones from that enclosure. And suddenly she’s filled with panic.

“Why? Why did you make another?” She blurts out. The scientist looks up, surprised at her outburst. “Haven’t you seen what these things can do!”

To her surprise, the woman merely smiles. Her attention is back on the dinosaur. “Oh, yes,” she says, carefully pulling a fragment of shell off the raptor’s head, “it’s amazing, isn’t it? The raw power they possess.” She sets the egg down carefully on the counter; nearly its whole body is free now.

Pepper is too surprised at her statement to reply for a moment. “They’re hunters,” she finally chokes out, “they kill for sport. They’ve learned to hunt _humans_ for sport. Do you really think this is—”

“I understand, Mrs. Potts,” the scientist calmly interrupts, “you’re afraid. It’s natural: we’re all afraid of things we can’t control.”

Pepper laughs disbelievingly.

“Who are you?” James asks.

“Oh, of course,” she says as she strips off her gloves, “Olivia. Olivia Octavius. A pleasure.”

***

They’re on the tour. He’s watching the security footage as the jeeps roll through the park gates, leaned back in his chair, hands folded under his chin.

Quinten wishes he could have gone with them to watch Stark’s paranoid ass jump at every creature they see. He smirks.

He’s admittedly annoyed. What are the chances that the billionaire would know the military expert _personally_? And that the “expert” would be so quick to show-off one of the park’s few failures? The colonel’s career rides on the success of the park just as much as everyone else’s.

Unless…

Unless he never meant to really invest in this park. Unless he came here with the intention to fuck up all of their hard work from the very beginning. Gathering information day-by-day, waiting for the moment he could sell them all out to his little buddy Stark.

Quinten shoves away from the desk, standing abruptly from his chair. _God_ , he should have seen this coming! Fucking Stark, getting in everyone else’s business, shutting down projects left and right.

He slams his fist down, and his coffee mug falls to the floor, shattering on impact. The liquid inside explodes, flying onto wires and into sockets, and with a few dying sparks, the computer screen in front of him fades to black.

It really doesn’t matter—everything on the hard drive is automatically uploaded to every other computer in this room, it’s really about security clearance, not—

And suddenly he has an idea.

If this place is going down anyway, and it looks like it is, why not mess with Stark a little?

His eyes linger on the still-sparking outlet, and he rolls his chair to the next computer, and starts looking at those security protocols.

***

The rumbling off the jeep’s engine and the thunderous rain sound a lot like a white noise soundtrack Peter listens to when he can’t sleep sometimes.

Hammer and Mr. Stark are sitting in the front two seats while Peter shivers in the back. There’s only an AC in here. It’s pretty rare that it gets cold in Costa Rica, he guesses, not worth installing a heater.

There _is_ , however, a screen where the dashboard would normally be in front. Right now it’s playing commercials—ugh—but Peter knows it should start narrating the tour in a minute.

Rain is pounding against the glass. They haven’t passed the first exhibit yet, but Peter still attempts to wipe off the fog on the window for a better view outside. It’s gorgeous and green, even in the rain. He promised he’d take lots of pictures for Aunt May. Maybe he could even get a selfie of him and Mr. Stark? That would be so cool.

The relative silence is suddenly filled with loud brass music, and the image of a majestic triceratops begins playing on the screen.

“ _Welcome to Jurassic Park. You are now entering the lost world of the prehistoric past, a world—_ ” Wait, is that James Earl Jones voice?—“ _creatures long gone from the face of the earth, which you are privileged to see for the first time._ ”

It’s hard to make out in the rain, but they’ve finally approached the first exhibit. There isn’t actually an enclosure for this one, it’s just a huge field. Peter knows this one, it’s the—

“ _Dilophasaurus. Once thought to be a dull and easily-hunted creature, the dilophasaurs is now known to spit venom at its prey, causing blindness, and eventual paralysis._ ”

“Jesus,” Mr. Stark mumbles as they all strain to see through the pouring rain.

Mr. Hammer just laughs. “They’re beautiful, but deadly! A great first attraction, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t wait for him to respond, “we likely won’t see any today, though. They find shelter from the rain in the trees.” He gestures vaguely to the surrounding jungle.

They sit there for a few more moments before the jeep begins moving again.

A few more exhibits pass by as they search blindly in the rain for any creatures. Every one is less eventful than the next. Mr. Hammer looks nervous.

“Boy,” he laughs weakly, “you managed to catch us on a bad day, Stark!”

Mr. Stark looks unamused, but Peter nearly laughs.

Suddenly, he turns to look at Peter. “Kid,” he says, an arm slung over the shoulder of his seat, “what do you think? Would _you_ pay to see this place?”

Mr. Hammer begins to protest, but Mr. Stark interrupts him. “No,” he says sternly, “he’s the intended audience, right? Let’s get his opinion.”

They both are looking at him now, and he feels himself flush.

Obviously, the answer is no. No, he wouldn’t want to come to a park filled with dangerous and uncontained animals, and no, he hasn’t found this tour to be particularly interesting at all.

Before he can find a polite way to say all of this, James Earl Jones’ voice rings out again, “ _The Tyrannosaurus Rex is probably the most well-known dinosaur of all…_ ”

***

“No, no, no,” Dr. Octavius shakes her head. “You underestimate us, Colonel. Jurassic Park’s dinosaurs can’t breed on their own.”

“Oh, yeah?” James shoots back, “well we’ve heard otherwise.”

She shakes her head again. “Come here,” she beckons as she walks towards a computer monitor at the side of the lab. “Look. Here’s their genetic code.” There’s a mess of numbers and letters on the screen.

Pepper wishes Tony were here.

“Right here,” the doctor continues, pointing at a bundle of code. The other two stare back at her blankly. She rolls her eyes. “They’ve been engineered to be solely female; They cannot reproduce,” she explains.

The colonel yanks his phone from his pocket and shoves it towards Octavius, “Then how do you explain this?”

It’s the article Peter showed Tony earlier: _Mysterious Lizard Attacks Plague West Coast, Costa Rica_.

Dr. Octavius scans the article for a moment, then scoffs, “There’s no solid proof here.”

“It specifically states the ‘lizard’ had three toes!” Pepper points out, “that is a primary characteristic of a procompsognathid—”

“Which was reported by an _eight-year-old_ girl—”

“—Who also was able to lead researchers to where she was attacked, an area that was littered with _bloody three-toed footprints_!”

“Alright!” James calls out loudly. Pepper hadn’t realized how much she’d raised her voice.

“There’s a much easier way to settle this. Mr. Beck has a program to track the dinosaurs on the island, right?” The doctor nods. “So,” he continues, “let’s see how many it can find now.”

***

The fences are _huge_. Peter can’t remember the exact height, but guesses it’s at least 30 feet. It’s built into a short, thick wall of concrete, and the wires are connected with broad metal poles. There are a few ‘ _Danger!_ ’ and ‘ _High Voltage_!’ signs strung across every few meters. Like that’s the real danger here.

Just like the raptor cage, the foliage is too thick to really see what’s inside the enclosure. The hair on the back of Peter’s neck stands up.

“ _The mighty tyrannosaurus arose late in the dinosaur history,_ ” the recording spews out, “ _dinosaurs ruled the earth for a hundred and fifty million years, but it wasn’t until the last—_ ”

Mr. Stark abruptly flips a switch he hadn’t even noticed, and the screen falls to black. Peter waits for Mr. Hammer to scold him, but the man remains silent. All of their eyes are glued on the exhibit.

The recording was annoying, sure, but Peter can’t help but miss how it blocked out noises from the outside. Every _thunk_ of rain or _swish_ of breeze sounds like a footstep, or a roar.

But nothing comes.

Mr. Hammer finally sighs. “Hold on,” he mumbles, reaching for his cell phone, “I’ll see if we can tempt the rex.”

Peter sits ramrod straight. “Tempt?” He squeaks out, “what do you mean?” But his boss only ignores him and dials a number. He puts it on speakerphone.

After a few rings, Mr. Beck answers, “This is Beck.” His voice sounds grainy, and a bit garbled. The service probably isn’t great this far out here.

“Beck,” Hammer replies, “we’re going to need some incentive for the t-rex.”

“Oh?” Beck’s voice crackles through. He sounds pleased. “Alright, give me a just a minute.”

The clicking of computer keys fills the car. “Alright,” he calls, “here it comes.”

And suddenly Peter hears the groaning of metal shifting. Peering through the window, he sees a little cage rise up from the ground in the enclosure. Must be a hydraulics system underground.

He can’t quite tell what the creature inside is, until he hears a faint bleat of a goat. Oh, no…

The bars surrounding the cage slide back into the ground, and the goat is left shivering alone in the rain, it’s leg chained to the platform.

***

Beck is chuckling quietly at a computer monitor when they enter the room. He abruptly stops when he notices them, and hastily closes the window he had open.

“Well, hello again,” he says, sounding downright cheerful, “what can I do you for?”

“We wanted to take a look at your enumerating program,” James replies.

Beck seems surprised. “Of course,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

He turns to the screen while Pepper, James, and Dr. Octavius gather around him. The screen shows a simple chart—a table, really:

**Total Animals 238**

**Species**

| 

**Expected**

| 

**Found**

| 

**Ver.**  
  
---|---|---|---  
  
Tyrannosaurs

| 

2

| 

2

| 

4.1  
  
Maiasaurs

| 

21

| 

21

| 

3.3  
  
Stegosaurs

| 

4

| 

4

| 

3.9  
  
Triceratops

| 

8

| 

8

| 

3.1  
  
Procompsognathids

| 

49

| 

49

| 

3.9  
  
It goes on a bit longer, but before Pepper can scan the whole thing, Beck pipes up, “See? Look for 238, find 238. Just like always.”

He turns towards Pepper, “I know your husband can be a bit, well, paranoid. But trust me—there is nothing to be worried about.”

And Pepper has a sudden idea.

“Hold on,” she says as Beck goes to close the program. “You’re looking for 238?” He nods. “Well, try looking for 239.”

There’s a short silence. Then, the man returns to the computer with a shrug. He types for a moment, and the screen refreshes:

** Total Animals 239 **

Another silence.

“Okay,” Pepper says quietly, “now try for 240.”

** Total Animals 240 **

“260.”

** Total Animals 260 **

You could hear a pin drop. “Now, 280.”

** Total Animals 280 **

“Oh my God,” James whispers.

“Now, 300.”

** ERROR: Search Params: 300 Animals Not Found. **

****

Beck and Octavius speak at the same time:

“Shit—”

“— _Fascinating_.”

“That’s _it_ ,” James grinds out. “That’s enough. You’ve lost control of the island, likely never had it in the first place.

“We’ve seen enough,” Pepper agrees. “Get those tour jeeps back here.”

Beck hesitates. “What?” Pepper snaps.

“The, uh, the software application is locked down pretty good. I mean, for safety, and all,” he stammers. “Don’t want people climbing out of the cars and such, do we?”

“What, you mean you can’t get them back?” James said, his volume rising.

“No, no!” Beck exclaims. “They’ll come back here automatically at the end of the tour. They just have to ride it out first.”

Pepper turns to the doctor. “Is that true?” She demands.

“Oh, yes,” she replies. “But…”

“But what?”

“You could always _pause_ the tour? Then we could pick them up in one of our hummers.”

Beck leaps from his chair. “Yes!” He nearly yells. They stare.

“I-I mean…” he sits back down slowly, “Yes. That would work.”

James sighs. “Alright,” he says, “what enclosure are they at right now?”

“The t-rex.” Beck doesn’t even check the screen.

The colonel curses.

Pepper begins marching towards the door, “There’s no time to waste, then.”

She hears Dr. Octavius and James follow her. “Let’s get them.”

***

The most horrifying part of it all came after the noise.

After the stomping.

After the ripping.

After the chewing and the spraying.

After the snapping and the snarling.

When the noise stopped, that’s when Peter realized.

The t-rex’s tail had brushed the fence, and it hadn’t done a thing.

There was no hum of electricity.

The t-rex nudges the wires with its ginormous snout, then carefully begins to pull apart the fence with a clawed hand.

And the fence is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil' disclaimer: I took the jeep's screen dialogue right from the movie. I also took the enumeration table right from the book.


	6. Hammer Has One (1) Braincell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter thinks he might’ve blacked out.
> 
> When he comes to his senses, he’s mumbling over and over to himself: “He left. He left, he left me. He left me.” Is he referring to Mr. Hammer or Mr. Stark? No idea. He is pulling desperately at his leg. His trousers have rips in several places, and he’s definitely bruising himself more than anything, but he’s past the point of logical thinking.
> 
> He's going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. This chapter contains the following:  
> \- mentions of (goat) blood  
> \- car accidents  
> \- brief mention of self-harm  
> \- panic attacks  
> \- and some swearing.
> 
> Be safe, and enjoy!

_“Chaos theory treats the behavior of the whole system like drop of water moving on a complicated propeller surface. The drop may spiral down, or slip outward towards the edge. It may do many different things, depending. But it will always move along the surface of the propeller._

_“Malcolm’s models tend to have a ledge, or a sharp incline, where the drop of water will speed up quickly. He modestly calls this speeding-up movement the **Malcolm Effect**. The whole system would suddenly collapse. And that is what he said about Jurassic park. That it had inherent instability.”_

-Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park

***

Tony is gripping the seat so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

The fence is _bending_. Wires snapping. Poles warping.

His mind is racing. How did it lose power? Yes, the storm is bad, but not _that_ bad. There isn’t nearly enough lightning to have messed with the power systems.

Peter is taking in short, gasping breaths behind him. _Focus, Tony!_

“Peter,” He murmurs quietly, evenly, “breathe, kid. We’re safe in here. We’re okay.”

The windshield is slightly fogged and blurred from the pouring rain, but he can still make out the outline of the t-rex. 40 feet tall with leathery skin and a thick, writhing tail.

_Snap!_ And the fence is useless.

It begins lumbering towards them, stomping over the concrete foundation, getting closer to the vehicles.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter squeaks, “M-Mr. Stark—”

“It’s alright. It probably hasn’t even noticed us—”

“No, the _headlights_ , Mr. Stark!”

The kid is right: the headlights are still on.

Moving frantically, the billionaire begins running his hands across the dashboard, the screen, _anywhere_ to find the off switch. Even as he does so, he knows that the lights are likely programmed from the control room, not manually.

“Oh, God,” Hammer whispers beside him, “oh, God.”

It’s cleared the concrete, now completely free of the enclosure. A flash of lightning bursts across the sky. For a brief moment, Tony can see it all. Rough, tough skin. Short, thick claws. Teeth, still smeared with the goat’s blood. And its _eyes_ —piercing and yellow.

It’s far too late for the headlights: it’s seen them. Huge puffs of steam trail from its nostrils with each exhale, and Tony realizes it’s trying to pick up their scent.

The kid is reaching a point of hyperventilation now.

“We’re okay,” Tony says placatingly, “It can’t smell us through the rain and mud. It’s… it’s just curious.” But he can tell the kid isn’t processing anything he’s saying.

There are two jeeps programmed to follow the rails: one in front, one behind. He feels his hands begin to shake as the dinosaur’s snout nudges the car behind them. It _does_ seem curious, but it’s very obvious that it is trying to get the car to _move_.

And suddenly, he’s climbing quickly into the back seat.

“What are you doing?!” Hammer hisses, having been ~~useless~~ frozen in terror this whole time.

Tony grunts as he clambers next to Peter, “Seeing what we’ve got to work with.” He’s searching for a lever, there should be one right… “There it is,” he mumbles to himself.

He pulls on a small switch hiding behind a headrest, allowing him to tip the middle seat up to reveal a compartment underneath. His eyes flicker quickly at the scattered supplies inside; There’s a few emergency blankets, flashlights, etc., but his eyes fall onto two items buried beneath the rest.

Digging past everything else, his hands finally find their grip on two flares.

“H-how did you know that was there?” Peter asks, his voice higher than usual.

“I’m a mechanic,” Tony replies simply as he pulls himself back upright, “I fix up cars.”

The kid nods in reply; He seems calmer now that Tony has hinted at having some sort of plan.

“What are you holding?” Hammer demands, “What are you going to do?”

“Flares,” the billionaire replies calmly, handing one off to him.

“Oh, to scare it off!” Hammer says, as if he’s just reached a brilliant conclusion, “It’s afraid of fire!”

“What? No!” Tony shakes his head—just when he thought Hammer might possess more than one braincell, “See how it’s sniffing? It’s got terrible eyesight, so I think it’s attracted to light. If we need to, I think we can _distract_ it with these.”

“That makes sense,” Peter says quietly as Hammer steams in the front seat.

Suddenly, the t-rex lets out a thunderous roar.

Peter immediately slaps his hands over his ears, and Tony instinctively grips the boy’s shoulder tightly. The sound isn’t particularly loud, but it is _terrifying_. Low and echoing. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

The back window is considerably less fogged, so Tony sees the first car fly off the track very clearly.

The windows shatter immediately as the dinosaur rams its head violently against the side of the car. It tips quickly, mud flying everywhere as it slams into the ground. But the t-rex still isn’t satisfied.

With the jeep now on its side, it swings it’s thick neck back once again, and hits the car so hard it seems to skip across the mud cleanly for a few seconds. The jeep catches on a rock, and begins rolling. A door flies off the frame. The sound of screeching metal fills the air.

Finally, it begins to sink slightly into the mud, until finally it falls still.

There’s a moment of relief.

And then, the missing door slams into the side of their car. Peter jolts in surprise, and he squeezes his shoulder again. Miraculously, the window doesn’t break, but the sound echoes out loudly anyway.

The dinosaur’s eyes seem to narrow as it follows the door’s path. Then it looks right at them.

_Shit_.

It’s moving towards them now. With his gaze still fixed on the rex, Peter scrambles to pull Tony’s hand off of his shoulder. Before the billionaire can pull away, he realizes the kid is trying to hold his hand.

He’s so shocked that he finds himself staring at Peter for a moment, instead of the monster lumbering towards them. The boy’s face is pale. He has terrified tears in his eyes and is still breathing much too harshly. Tony is filled with a fierce need to protect this kid. He slides his free arm across Peter’s shoulders comfortingly.

The dinosaur leans down to look in the car windows.

Hammer has completely lost his composure, and is letting out horrified squeaks with every breath. Tony doesn’t bother telling him to shut up: it’s already found them.

Now its tongue is snaking around the glass, looking for a way in. Its breath fogs the glass, and saliva drips down the windows thickly.

The rex retracts its tongue and nudges the car. They rock a bit, tipping back down harshly. The jolt makes Tony bite his tongue, and he feels blood fill his mouth.

He swallows, shuddering. “Don’t move,” he whispers urgently, “it’s trying to make us move.” Peter has an iron grip on his hand.

The dinosaur watches them intently for a moment, looking for any signs of life. Tony holds his breath. And then its eyes narrow again.

There’s another terrible jolting movement, and then they roll.

Over,

and over,

and over.

It’s a cycle of floating and then slamming violently into the ground. Gravity is non-existent, time seems to drag on for hours. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he can hear the glass break around them, feel the mud splashing his face, and smell the gasoline leaking from the car.

Suddenly, his arms are jerked open, and the kid disappears. He falls into something much softer, and wetter than the car seats or ceiling. And everything seems to fade away…

***

Peter peels his eyes open carefully—he’s pretty sure he didn’t pass out, he’d just slammed his eyes shut as soon as he saw the dinosaur rear its head.

Each breath brings a sharp pain in his ribs: he must’ve broken one. His vision is swimming. He shakes his head, but that only makes him dizzier. He’s gasping harshly, trying to quell the urge to vomit. Distantly, he wonders if the rain has stopped, or if he just can’t hear it with the ringing in his ears. With a churning stomach, he takes stock of the situation:

The first thing he notices is that everything is upside down. He is sprawled on the ceiling of the jeep, his shoulders, neck, and head are lying where the sunroof used to be, wet with mud.

He takes stock of his injuries. Mainly scrapes and bruises, a broken rib or two, but miraculously, he didn’t hit his head. So that’s something.

Then, he notices his leg, awkwardly pinned between the warped car door and the seat. Taking deliberate, slow breaths, he tries to move it. And thank God, it shifts a half inch or so. He’s stuck. His leg is not injured, just stuck. He pulls harshly, but his leg stays resolutely still. Shit. There’s a few moments where he just stares blankly at his predicament: so much has happened so quickly.

Then he realizes he’s alone.

Peering through the windows—it _is_ still raining— he sees the tracks aren’t too far away. They’d actually rolled closer to the enclosure than the surrounding jungle. Which is good and bad: easier to find their way back, and harder to hide from the dinosaur.

Suddenly, he feels his heart begin pounding as he jerks as far as he can, searching for any sign of the monster. He doesn’t see it from his limited vantage point. At least there aren’t any dino tracks near him—but wait, the rain likely would’ve washed them away…

He’s straining to hear something, anything, but the ringing in his ears is fading too slowly. He lets out a frustrated groan.

_Where is Mr. Stark? Mr. Hammer? Are they hurt? Are they… did the t-rex—_

No. They’re okay. They have to be okay.

He sniffs, suddenly overcome with emotion. God, he’s _terrified_. He can’t quite comprehend how much time has passed, but the dinosaur is still out there. Probably close.

Then there’s a voice. It’s faint, but he definitely hears it. He’s hit with an overwhelming sense of relief—he isn’t alone.

Listening again, he hears a muffled, “ _Peter_!” The voice sounds desperate, panicked.

“I’m here!” He squeaks out, “I-I’m stuck!”

The voice doesn’t respond. Just as he’s considering calling out again, he hears footsteps approaching. They’re much too quiet to belong to the t-rex, thank _God_.

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark says as he kneels to look in the car window, now resting on the ground. He looks relatively okay, but there’s a yellowing bruise just above his left eyebrow.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says worriedly, “are you okay?”

To his surprise, Mr. Stark barks out a laugh. “Yeah, kid,” he smiles and shakes his head good-naturedly, “ _I’m_ fine. How about you? What am I looking at here?”

Peter tugs slightly at his leg, “I’m okay, just stuck.”

The billionaire lets out a slow breath. “Okay… let’s just—here, hang on a sec,” and suddenly he’s gone.

He’s alone. Again.

Peter can hear the rain now. He breathes in slowly, relishing in the fresh smell. He used to love rainy days, but he isn’t sure he still will after all of this.

He imagines, for a brief moment, getting off the flight back home and running into May’s arms. Smelling her familiar perfume, feeling her hair tickle his cheek as he buries his face into her neck. There’s an aching in his chest; He never said goodbye, at least, not a proper one.

And Ned. He’d never get to tell him how he really feels.

Tears are running down his face now. He tries to wipe them off, but only manages to smear mud across his cheeks. He shakes himself out of it. _C’mon, Peter. You can do this._

The boy strains to hear past his own unsteady breathing, listening for footsteps—human or not.

_He probably just went to grab something to help lever the door away_ , Peter tells himself, _he’ll be back. It’s okay._

And there it is: footsteps. Peter cocks his head— _two_ pairs of footsteps.

“Sorry, kid,” Mr. Stark huffs out before Peter can even see his face. Suddenly, Mr. Stark and Mr. Hammer are kneeling to look inside the car. “Look what I found,” the billionaire smirks.

Hammer looks filthy, but unharmed. He’s still shaking violently. “Stark,” he spits out, “we don’t have time for this.” Time to joke around? Or time to help Peter?

“The rex is occupied with the other jeep,” Mr. Stark explains to Peter, “but we should probably get out of here quick.

“Hammer, you pull the seat away from Peter’s leg. I’ll try and lever the door up a bit.” Peter is surprised to see a crowbar in his hands.

Apparently, Mr. Hammer is too. “Is that a fucking _crowbar_?”

“It fell out as we rolled,” Mr. Stark replies impatiently. “C’mon, let’s go on three, okay?”

“No, no,” Mr. Hammer says, sitting back on his heels, “you’re telling me there was a crowbar in the trunk, and you grabbed the _flares_ instead?”

“You can’t fight off a dinosaur with a _crowbar_ , Hammer!”

“Um,” Peter murmurs, “guys, we should probably be a little quieter—”

“It’s better than fucking _flares_!” Mr. Hammer continues even louder.

“Hammer!” Mr. Stark yells, “this is _not_ the time! We need to—”

A loud huff cuts him off. Peter can see steam floating over the car, and he knows they’re too late.

Slowly, he turns his head.

And he’s face to face with a dinosaur.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mr. Hammer and Stark duck out of its view, but Peter is stuck in plain sight.

He hears Mr. Stark’s words from earlier echo in his head: _Don’t move. It’s trying to make us move._

Peter is taking in deep breaths through his nose, trying to create the least amount of noise possible. He can smell its putrid breath, hot and rotten. Bile is rising in his throat. He bites down the urge to scream.

Suddenly, its tongue is there, waggling across the ceiling, closer and closer, and _ohmygod it’s going to find me and_ —

“Hey!” Mr. Stark shouts, “c’mon, c’mon! Look over here!”

***

As soon as Tony stepped away from the car window, two spots of red caught his eye. He’d reacted without thinking: digging the flares from the mud, shoving one into Hammer’s grasp, lighting his own, and running out to drawing the creature’s attention.

His shout sounds much more confident than he is currently feeling. The dinosaur is looking his way, and suddenly his breath catches in his chest. Sweat and rain are stinging his eyes. His hands are shaking.

“Hammer,” he gasps out, “help the kid.”

He doesn’t wait for him to reply, just forces his legs to move, hesitantly at first, then falling into a full sprint. With ragged breaths, he listens to the mud splash beneath his feet. Then he listens as the mud splashes beneath the t-rex’s feet. It’s working.

The average human can sprint at around eight miles per hour. Tony has no idea what a t-rex clocks in at, but he knows he is at a disadvantage. Logically, to escape a creature this big, he should avoid running in a straight line, and utilize the tight quarters of the jungle. He should hide out there until the creature either loses him, or grows tired of waiting.

But he isn’t trying to escape this thing, just distract it.

So instead, he makes a beeline for the tracks, ignoring the stinging in his eyes and throat. He just has to lead it as far as he can, then throw the flare.

The sound of the creature’s steps are close enough now that he begins glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. His shoes keep slipping in the mud, and he figures if worse comes to worst, he can slide out of its reach, like a baseball slide.

He can hear its breaths over the rain now. Despite the burning in his legs, he forces himself to keep going. Just a bit further.

But his vision is blurring, and his chest is cramping. Suddenly, he hears Pepper’s voice in his head: _Make sure Peter is okay._

He thinks of the light in the kid’s eyes when he’d explained the DNA tech earlier. He thinks of how he’d held back a laugh as he watched the kid try and flatten his hair when it curled from the humidity. He thinks of his obvious fear as they stood around the raptor cage. And finally, he thinks of the tears in the kid’s eyes, and how he’d desperately held his hand when he was afraid.

Filled with determination, Tony slides to an unsteady stop, and wastes no time launching his flare as far as he can muster. It soars high in the air before hitting the tracks nearly 14 meters away, bouncing a few times, and rolling to a stop.

It works perfectly; the dinosaur doesn’t seem to notice Tony at all, and continues to chase the flame.

He watches it clamber over, and begin growling and swiping at the flame. That ought to keep it occupied for a few minutes.

With shaking legs, he begins slowly trekking back towards Peter and Hammer, hoping to God that the kid is free by now.

***

Peter isn’t sure what is happening. The moment Mr. Stark had begun leading the t-rex away, Mr. Hammer had murmured, “sorry, kid,” and ran towards the jungle. Once the man’s footsteps had faded into the sound of the rain, Peter thinks he might’ve blacked out.

When he comes to his senses, he’s mumbling over and over to himself: “He left. He left, he _left_ me. He _left_ me.” Is he referring to Mr. Hammer or Mr. Stark? No idea. He is pulling desperately at his leg. His trousers have rips in several places, and he’s definitely bruising himself more than anything, but he’s past the point of logical thinking.

Mr. Hammer _left_. Sure, the man hadn’t seemed particularly fond of Peter, but he’d never imagined he would be so cruel as to leave him to _die_. The man must’ve understood something Peter didn’t. He must’ve known it was a helpless situation. That he was a lost cause.

_I’m going to die._

Terrified whimpers have joined his incoherent mumblings. “He left. They left me alone, I’m going to die. I’m going—I’m going to die, and they left me—” He tugs his leg harder; The pain is oddly grounding.

When Peter was much younger, he would rub anxiously at his knuckles until they were raw, until they blistered or scabbed over. It helped him stay present. Once Aunt May realized what he’d been doing, she’d sat him down and taught him other things to do when he felt overwhelmed.

He remembers how she’d taught him to keep smooth rocks in his pocket to rub instead of his hands. She’d bought him little fidget toys. She’d shown him techniques to calm himself.

Once, he’d come home from school shaking, tears pooled in his eyes. He remembers how she’d jumped up from the couch and immediately swept him into her arms. Her breath had smelled of coffee. He felt her glasses pressing onto his head. They’d stood there for a long time. Her shirt fabric was soft as Peter cried into her shoulder, and she’d carefully run her fingers through his hair. “You’re safe, Peter,” she’d murmured softly, “it’s okay to feel it now. You’re safe.”

And now, alone and afraid, trapped and trembling, Peter leeches as much comfort as he can from that memory.

He runs through May’s exercise as he takes a deep breath. _Five things you can see… four things you can feel…_ Tension melts off him.

“Okay,” he breathes, “okay. Time for a plan.”

Mud is rubbing into his hair as he turns his head from side to side, searching. There’s got to be something. His arms are shaking, but he forces himself to sit up. _Let’s see what we have to work with_.

***

Tony is trudging through the thick mud towards the jeep, when he hears a shriek.

It’s at such a high octave that he thinks it must be a woman for a moment, but when his head snaps in its direction, he sees Hammer stumbling through the edge of the greenery. _What the fuck?_

“What are you doing!” Tony hisses to him. Hammer freezes, leaning shakily against the trunk of a tree. “Where the fuck is Peter!”

Hammer is shaking his head, “There’s no point," he says hoarsely, "he’s a goner, Tony, you _know_ he is.”

The billionaire tightens his jaw. No. _No_. They’re going to get out of this. “Get ahold of yourself, Hammer!” His hands curl into fists. “We can make it through this, we can _all_ make it through this if we just—”

A loud splash of mud sounds behind Tony. He instantly freezes, not daring to turn his head. Hammer is staring open-mouthed at the dinosaur. Tony can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees the man’s trousers grow wet across the groin.

The rex is sniffing loudly again. This time, Tony knows not to panic; it can’t see well, especially in the rain. He’s covered in enough mud that it likely can’t pick up his scent. The men just need to wait this out.

But, of course, that would be giving Hammer’s level of intelligence too much credit.

Tony can see the moment that Hammer decides to make a break for it. With a _snap_ of a branch beneath his shoes, the man is desperately running further into the jungle. Hammer’s breathing is so harsh that Tony can still hear it even over the pouring rain.

Apparently, the dino can hear it too, as it goes tearing off in Hammer’s direction. It slams its massive body into the trees, stepping over boulders and hills. Tree leaves and mud explode with each of its movements. The man never stood a chance.

The rex reaches him before he can get 12 yards away. And the next few moments seem to happen in slow motion:

Hammer is cornered. He frantically lights his flare, still clutched in his hand. He attempts to scare the creature away with the flame. The movement only eggs the creature on. And with a thunderous growl, Hammer is yanked from the ground by its monstrous jaws. His legs scramble frantically as they hang out of its mouth before there is a horrible crunching noise, and he falls still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!  
> AND I'M SORRY THERE IS ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER!!!! There won't be one next chapter, cross my heart!  
> Thank you to everyone who has left me such kind comments!!!! Ya'll keep me going!!


	7. What Goes Up...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony can’t help it; he heaves, over and over. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. His chest aches, he can’t breathe. There’s blood on his hands from little scrapes he accumulated throughout this nightmare, and it makes him gasp even more harshly. He’s desperately scratching at it, covering it with mud, and feeling bile rise up his throat once again. Get it off, get it off.
> 
> He needs a shower. He needs ten showers. He needs—he needs…
> 
> He needs to help the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:  
> \- descriptions of blood  
> \- gore  
> \- disassociation  
> \- shock  
> \- mention of explosions  
> \- car wreck  
> \- implied panic attack
> 
> be safe!

He’s gone. Justin Hammer is gone. There are thin lines of blood trickling down the t-rex’s chin. The _crunch_ of Hammer’s bones is echoing over and over in Tony’s head. Hammer is dead. Hammer is _dead_.

The billionaire is standing a few yards away from the gruesome scene, fighting desperately to avoid vomiting right on the spot. He can’t draw attention to himself. He has no idea what to do. A frantic, animalistic part of him is urging him to run. _Now’s your chance! It won’t notice you!_

His knees are firmly set in the mud. ~~Wait, when did he kneel down?~~ It’s seeping into his pants, glistening with rain. There is an odd blankness filling his mind; it feels as though he is watching himself from a distance away. Is he dreaming? This can’t be real. It doesn’t feel real. _He_ doesn’t feel real. Then man realizes he’s been rocking himself slightly, his hands gripping his own shirt desperately. He’s dizzy from holding his breath. _Oh, God. Oh, God, what am I going to do?_

He can’t leave Hammer, he _can’t_. It was his job to make sure the park was safe, and now Hammer is _dead_ and it’s _his fault—_

While he’s been fighting to get ahold of himself, the dinosaur has dropped Hammer’s corpse onto the ground. His limbs are eschew. His eyes are open and dull. His chest and neck are coated in blood. The t-rex is leaned over the body, licking his wounds, and strings of saliva drip across Justin’s face. Tony stares at the scene, mesmerized by the maroon-colored mixture of mud and blood blossoming around the body.

Distantly, Tony realizes he is taking in gasping breaths, he can’t seem to force his lungs to fill. He knows he needs to quiet down, but _God_ , what is happening? What—what just…

It pulls Hammers arm off. It squelches horribly.

He can’t help it; he heaves, over and over. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. His chest aches, he can’t breathe. There’s blood on his hands from little scrapes he accumulated throughout this nightmare, and it makes him gasp even more harshly. He’s desperately scratching at it, covering it with mud, and feeling bile rise up his throat once again. Get it off, get it _off._

He needs a shower. He needs _ten_ showers. He needs—he needs…

He needs to help the kid.

The world is spinning around him, but he has to get up. He has—he can’t let the kid die. Peter can’t end up like this—he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

His limbs are responding sluggishly, clumsily _._ He wipes vomit from his lips, and now they taste of mud. _Maroon mud and crackling bones and lifeless eyes and—_

“Get to the kid,” he gasps out hoarsely, “get to the kid, just get to the kid.”

He thinks of Peter’s trembling hand in his and rises to his feet.

***

He’s so _close_!

Peter’s hands scrabble through the mud, his back arched, and his head thrown back to see his target: the crowbar. Mr. Stark must have dropped it when he and Hammer were hiding from the t-rex. He’s literal inches away, but he can’t manage to stretch himself out any further. Sighing, he slumps limply back onto the ceiling of the car. Admittedly, this is not one of his better plans.

Mr. Stark and Mr. Hammer still haven’t come back, but he’s trying not to dwell on that thought for too long. They’re just trying to be cautious, probably hiding in the tree line to keep out of sight. Maybe lost the dinosaur and decided to go get help.

Maybe they’re both gone.

His breaths are shaky, and he’s trying not to cry for the _third_ time that day— It’s bad enough that Mr. Stark undoubtedly saw the tear tracks on his face earlier. Peter desperately wants to impress the billionaire, but can’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed for holding his hand earlier. The raw terror he had been feeling left him scrambling for some semblance of comfort, and surprisingly, Mr. Stark had took it in stride. He remembers how the man had immediately wrapped an arm around him reassuringly.

Hm. He’ll have to unpack all of _that_ later.

He hasn’t seen the Sun in what feels like years. Numbness has begun to spread into his hands and feet—he’s _freezing_. The metal car and the mud beneath him are bitingly cold; It’s pretty unlikely he’ll be able to survive the night in this car. Time to stop stalling for Mr. Stark: he’s got to move.

May always told him to make a list of things to do when he got overwhelmed by his schoolwork. _Okay_ , he thinks to himself, his fingers drumming absently on the metal ceiling:

  1. _I’m stuck._
  2. _Both adults have disappeared._
  3. _I can’t reach the crowbar._



He thumps his head dully against the mud beneath him. This isn’t helping _._

_C’mon, Peter. Think outside the box… or, car… I guess._

He breathes in, and _shit_ , there it is.

The smell of gasoline.

***

_“PETER!”_

_The chair underneath him wobbles as he jerks away from the microwave. Strong arms lift him swiftly from his place by the counter. “Hey!” He squeaks, kicking his legs for a moment. Then he hears his captor sigh, and he falls still. Uh oh._

_Peter is set down gently on the kitchen tile, and his uncle kneels in front of him, his arms still resting on the boy’s shoulders. He hasn’t even opened his mouth and Peter can already feel tears prickling at his eyes. “Peter,” Ben says sternly, “you know you can’t do your experiments without May or me here.”_

_The five-year-old stares down at his shoes, the cool Iron Man ones he got for Christmas. He can’t cry! He’s too old to cry! “I didn’t!” He blurts out, “I— it just was set up already when I got here!”_

_Ben chuckles. “C’mon, bud, tell the truth.”_

_Peter glares at his uncle defiantly._

_“Alright,” the man sighs, “guess I’ll have to pull out my lie detector.”_

_The effect is instantaneous. “No!” Peter shrieks, “No, Ben, I didn’t get it out!”_

_He simply smiles, wiggling his fingers and growing closer to Peter’s stomach._

_“No, no wait, wait!”_

_Peter erupts into giggles as his uncle tickles him viciously. He weakly tries to push Ben’s hands away, but the attack continues. Ben is laughing too now, and Peter feels tears prickling his eyes again._

_“Okay!” The boy gasps out, “okay, okay, I said a lie, Ben! I said a lie!”_

_The hands pull away, coming to rest on Peter’s shoulders instead. “I know, Petey,” there’s a smile in his voice._

_Peter sniffs, still catching his breath. “I hate the lie ‘tector,” he pouts._

_Ben chuckles again, then turns and takes a seat next to his nephew on the countertop. “Do you know why you can’t do your experiments without us, Pete?”_

_Peter sighs dramatically, drawing another laugh from the man. “Because I can get hurt,” Peter recites monotonously, rubbing his eyes._

_“That’s right. You almost hurt yourself before I came in, did you know that?”_

_“What!” He yells, wide-eyed, “no I didn’t!”_

_“Yes you did, Pete,” Ben replies patiently, “can I show you?”_

_Reluctantly, the boy nods, raising his arms. His uncle slides from the counter and lifts him from the floor back to the chair he’d stood on earlier._

_“Do you see this?” Ben asks, holding a cup. The boy nods. “This is called rubbing alcohol—”_

_“No!” Peter exclaims, “that’s water! I poured it by myself!”_

_“It’s not water, bud. Here, smell it.”_

_The scent burns Peter’s nose. “Oh.”_

_Ben smiles, “yeah. I know it looks like water, but the label actually says rubbing alcohol. Did you know rubbing alcohol can explode?”_

_Peter’s eyes light up. “Really? That’s cool!”_

_Ben chuckles, “It’s not cool if you want to keep your eyebrows, Petey.” At the boy’s confused look, the man continues, “You put tin foil on top of the cup—”_

_“To keep it from spilling!” Peter interjects proudly._

_“Right, bud, but tin foil is metal. Do you know what happens if you put metal in the microwave?”_

_“Um…”_

_“It makes some fire.”_

_“Really?” The boy’s eyes are wide._

_“Yeah, really.” Ben is looking at him with a warm smile. He likes it when Ben does that. “And if you put alcohol and fire together, it makes an explosion.”_

_The man smiles as he watches Peter process the information. The boy stares thoughtfully for a moment, then he blinks. Then he yells, “wait!” He waves his arms dramatically, “Ben, I almost made a whole s’plosion!”_

_“That’s right, bud.” Ben fights to keep a serious expression, a smile twitching at his lips. “That’s why you have to be careful.”_

_Peter stares at him, his mouth gaping. “Uncle Ben,” he says, “you’re so smart!”_

_Ben laughs, squeezing the boys shoulder. “I don’t know about that—”_

_“Do—” Peter cuts himself off. “Do you think I’ll be smart like you when I grow up?” He asks shyly._

_Ben feels his heart swell. Gripping both of Peter’s shoulders again, he says, “I think you’re already smarter than me, Petey.” The boy beams._

_“That’s true,” Peter says matter-of-factly, “I already learned 5 x 5.”_

_“Oh, really?” Ben laughs._

_“Yeah! It’s 25!”_

_“Wow, bud,” Ben smiles, “see? You already are smarter than me.” He scoops the boy into another hug._

_“You’ll be the best of all of us, Peter.”_

***

He’s finally caught his breath when he hears it.

The boom vibrates in Tony’s chest. It’s nothing like thunder or fireworks, it’s something much more familiar. A sound that he’s heard multiple times during failed weapons testing: an explosion. And, it came from the direction of the car. His blood runs cold.

Though his whole body is aching terribly, the billionaire sprints towards the source of the sound. His legs are shaky and he can’t help but slide every few strides. He _knew_ he smelled gas when the car had begun rolling, how did he forget! And now the kid is probably hurt and Hammer is _dead_ and— No. No, Tony, focus.

With bile inching its way up his throat, he’s finally close enough to squint through the layers of rain. There’s the cement wall and the fence. There’s the tour tracks, buried in mud. There’s scraps of metal, bent and warped from the car wreck. But there is no car.

No. No no _no_.

He’s slowed to a walk. His hands have gone numb. His legs are moving of their own accord, robotically, stiffly. When he reaches the cement wall, he peers over the edge, looking down on the deep green foliage. And there, dangling precariously on a tree limb, is the jeep.

Fuck.

***

Climbing down the cement wall is much easier than he anticipated. The ivy is thick and slimy, but provides decent footholds as he descends. God, he’s tired.

The billionaire’s legs ache as he jumps to the ground, and begins drags them through the thick mud. Blood trickles steadily down his forehead, mixing with the pouring rain and his own perspiration. He robotically wipes the fluids from his stinging eyes. The kid. He has to get to the kid.

The cars headlights are, miraculously, still on, and shadows of twisted branches paint the already gruesome scene. He can hear the steady groans of metal against metal. Glass shifting, and tires squeaking against wet bark.

He cranes his neck, eyes darting over every inch of the now upside-down vehicle, searching for any signs of life. Puffs of steam arise with each of his labored breaths. His shaking hands cup around his mouth, “Peter!” He shouts.

_It can hear you!_ A panicked voice in his head screams out, _That monster can still hear you!_

But Tony doesn’t care. The kid is up there, somewhere. He has to be.

“ _Peter!_ ” He shouts again, voice breaking with desperation. A panicked fog begins to cloud his mind, and Tony forces himself to take deep, ragged breaths. The kid is in the car. He’s _got_ to be in the car, because if he isn’t—

Tony shudders as flashes of Hammer’s grotesquely bent body enter his mind. He imagines Peter’s eyes—pleading and so, _so_ trusting—staring vacantly, torso slashed and torn with his intestines spilling out as blood dyes the mud around him a sickly maroon color.

He gives his head a violent shake, and quickly dismisses the thought _._

When a third shout from Tony goes unanswered, the man steels himself, and trudges towards the base of the tree.

Luckily, the bark is thick and rough, and provides decent traction; still, his hands sting as the jagged surface grinds beneath his palms. As Tony climbs systematically up each rain-soaked branch, his breathing begins to slow. His focus is divided solely between targeting secure hand-holds, and the repeated mantra of, _God, let him be alive_ , consuming his thoughts.

The car is still swaying slightly from the initial impact, and Tony becomes startlingly aware that it could fall at any given moment. With him directly underneath it.

But he’s so _close_.

He achingly pulls himself up the last branch, and is now sitting on the same one supporting the majority of the car’s weight. Which, _okay_ , isn’t his brightest moment, but Tony figures what’s another 180lbs amongst the already 3,000+?

With more caution than he’s used his whole life, Tony rises to his feet, and walks across the limb of the tree.

The jeep is mangled. (Distantly, Tony hopes that’s the last time he’ll have to use that descriptor today.) The flashy red writing across the sides have become nearly illegible from scrapes and dents. There isn’t a shred of glass intact on any window, and the doors are warped horribly from the impact.

And there, resting on the ceiling, glittering with specks of glass, is Peter. Tony releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The kid’s clothes are ripped in several spots, his hair is caked in mud, blood drips from a gash somewhere on his head, but he is breathing, and he is _alive_.

“Kid,” Tony breathes, “kid, kid, _kid._ ”

Peter’s eyes are open, Tony realizes with a start, but they’re glassy and vacant. Tony rests a hand carefully on the car window—or what’s left of it—and slowly holds a hand out towards Peter. “Hey, Pete,” he says softly, “how we doing in there?”

The kid’s eyes blink lethargically, processing Tony’s words much slower than he would like. To Tony’s horror, the kid sniffs softly, tears glimmering in dilated eyes. “I threw up,” he whispers.

And Tony’s heart _breaks_. Barely sixteen, curled limply in a mess of a jeep, with nothing but a mess of a man to get him out of this. This poor kid. Tony takes in a sharp breath.

“That’s okay kiddo,” he says, “you probably hit your head on the way down.”

Leaves on the tree begin to shake violently with a new gust of wind. A _whoosh_ ing sound now joins the roar of the rain.

And the creaking of strained branches.

Suddenly, the spell breaks, and panic shoots through Tony’s chest. “Kid,” he says quickly, “Pete, we gotta get you out of there.”

Peter shakes his head, eliciting a whine of pain. “I don’t—I can’t—” he mumbles incoherently.

Both of Tony’s hands are reaching towards Peter now; They’ve started shaking again. “It’s okay,” he says jokingly, “I won’t tell anyone you threw up.”

But Peter only takes a shuddering breath. “I don’t… I don’t want to throw up again,” he whispers, “it—it _hurts_.” A few tears have escaped now, drawing tracks through the mud on his cheeks.

“You won’t,” Tony says quickly, without thinking. “You won’t throw up again. But you’ve gotta climb out of there now.” Peter is shaking his head again. “It’s time to go home, don’t you want to get all cleaned up?”

Peter stares at Tony for an uncomfortably long time. Slowly, he nods.

“Alright, kid.” Tony forces calm into his words, “why don’t you come over here now?”

Peter has stopped whining, so Tony figures he must be a little more coherent. He takes a deep breath, and begins scooting across the ceiling of the car towards Tony.

Tony is unconsciously leaning against the car door now, straining to get as close as he can to the kid. “That’s it,” he says softly, “you’re doing great, bud.”

Harsh breaths are escaping the kid, and Tony thinks he’s probably trying to calm his nausea. The billionaire aches with each pained noise. Peter’s trousers scuff quietly along the plastic and carpeting, and after what feels like hours, he is close enough to shakily place his freezing hands into Tony’s. Tony’s hands are rough and calloused, but at least he’s able to warm the kid a little.

But just as Tony is about to squeeze Peter’s hands reassuringly, the car lurches.

The sound of metal scraping against the bark makes the hair on the back of his neck stand. He is considering yanking the kid through the window, concussion be damned, when luckily the car settles again. Tony bends his knees to lower his center of gravity, and steadies his breaths as the branch bounces dangerously.

Breathing hard through his mouth, Tony says, “Okay kid, it’s time to get out now.” Peter whimpers, but slowly manages to rise to his knees—he’s shaking, and blinking like he’s fighting to remain conscious. “That’s it, bud,” Tony murmurs, and begins pulling him through the car window. They’ve got to make this fast.

Without glass, the kid is able to rest a knee against the window, and the billionaire carefully maneuvers him out of the car. Tony distantly realizes he’s providing a stream of nonsensical encouragement as they go.

As soon as Peter is on his feet, the branch breaks.

Tony thinks he yells, but the sounds of glass shifting, metal screeching, and wood snapping drowns it out. It happens so quickly—a blur of movement, the terrifying feeling of free-falling, then a sudden painful tug on his left arm that jolts all the way up to his shoulder. He can’t help but let out a yelp of pain.

“I’m sorry!” A terrified voice wheezes above him, “I’m sorry!”

Rain is coating his face as he looks up, dazed. The kid is lying on his stomach across a branch, face pale and each breath a desperate gasp. His knuckles are white as they grasp Tony’s arm. But the real shocker is the vehicle swinging back and forth precariously not five yards above them.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tony whispers to himself.

“I gotta—I can’t hold you much longer, I’m sorry!” Peter gasps out.

Tony internally slaps himself. _Focus!_ “You’re alright kid,” he manages to get out, even as blood from Peter’s head drips onto his outstretched arm. He shudders at the sickening contrast of its warmth against his freezing skin.

“Just a little longer, I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

Peter acknowledges him with a strained grunt, and Tony knows he has to act fast. His eyes dart around frantically, searching for a safe landing point. He spots a branch a few yards down. It won’t be pleasant, but it’ll work.

He takes in a steadying breath. “Alright kid,” he calls up, “I found a branch to land on, you can let go.”

The kid’s arms are shaking, and tears are streaming freely down his face now. “I—wait, I…” He gasps in a breath, “I don’t… pl—please don’t leave me, _please_.”

Before Tony can reassure him, Peter’s hand slips.

And _damn_ does landing on that branch hurt. He hits it stomach first, and scrambles to get a grip on the bark as he slips dangerously down the side. Peter is frantically calling to him, but all the air has been squashed from Tony’s chest. The bark is scraping his cheek unforgivingly as he straddles the branch with his legs.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter cries, “are you okay? Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Tony manages to shift himself to a sitting position, and forces in a breath. “Yeah, kid, yeah!”

Despite the pouring rain, Tony can hear the relieved sigh escape Peter. “I’m sorry I dropped you! I—It just slipped!” His voice is shaking.

Tony wants nothing more than to erase that shrill fear from Peter’s voice. But just as he’s about to call out more meaningless reassurances, the car lurches downwards again.

The billionaire watches in horror as Peter stares upwards, and freezes. The kid glances quickly between the car and the ground, then seems to make a decision, and scrambles to climb _across_ instead of _down_.

_What the fuck?_ Tony thinks to himself. _The concussion is messing with him._

“Kid! Wait!” He yells. Peter freezes and stares at him in disbelief as the car crashes steadily through the branches. (Tony is momentarily stunned yet again at the kid’s immediate trust in him.) “What are you doing!?” His voice has climbed an octave in panic, “climb _down_!”

The kid shakes his head firmly. “Mr. Stark,” he yells down, continuing his path across the branches, “have you ever seen that movie _Megamind_?”

“What the fuck?” Tony says again, this time aloud. The car catches again, and sways on a branch, but they both know it’ll only hold a few seconds.

“There’s this scene where a skyscraper is tipping towards them,” Peter pants, “and they have to get ahead of it before it hits them.” He gasps sharply when the car breaks free. He scrambles away even quicker, “And I always thought, why don’t they just step to the _side_?”

_Wait._

_That… makes sense?_

The kid’s hands aren’t shaking when he grasps onto the bark behind him, and his fearful expression has turned into one of determination. The jeep slams through the branch Peter was standing on not two seconds ago. The kid clambers onto another, and immediately shimmies backwards until his back is against the trunk.

And it _works._ The vehicle careens downwards, only catching slightly on Peter’s branch. It shakes violently, but doesn’t break.

The kid did it. That genius kid narrowly escaped death by concocting a plan from a _children’s movie_. That idiot.

“Mr. Stark, MOVE!”

The shout snaps him out of his thoughts, and Tony scrambles to do what it says. He’s standing in the same position as the kid when the car finally tumbles cleanly through the remaining branches. It hits the ground with a muddy, ear-shredding crunch, and then it is silent.

And now it’s just them and the rain.

For a long moment the two boys sit quietly, catching their breath. Peter is huffing out sharp breaths somewhere above him, but Tony is unable to tear his eyes away from (what used to be) the car. _Peter was in there,_ he thinks, a bit disconnectedly. He knows he should be terrified, but all he feels in this moment is absolute _exhaustion_.

He grounds himself by digging his fingertips firmly into the rough bark. They’re okay. He’s okay. Peter’s _okay_.

He hears the noise of fabric dragging along bark from above—the kid must’ve slid down to a sitting position. He hears him groan.

Tony forces himself to move, to climb just a few more branches. It’s quiet now, and he can hear himself grunting with each modified pull-up he does. His legs feel like lead, and his heart can’t seem to stop pounding, but he has to get to the kid. As he slips along the rain-soaked limbs, he swears to himself he’ll never climb another tree in his life.

Turns out the kid found a dip between two branches. It’s smooth, flat, and circular—the size and shape of a kiddie pool. Miraculously, it’s shielded enough from the rain that it’s relatively dry.

Peter is sitting with his head between his knees, breathing hard. Tony climbs next to him, careful to make himself known so the kid doesn’t freak out. After settling down and celebrating the relief his body and brain feel, he sets a hesitant hand on the back of the kid’s neck. For a moment they just listen to each other breathe. Tony realizes the kid is trembling, either from shock or the cold. Slowly, he begins to rub a thumb gently along the back of Peter’s neck. The kid stiffens.

“Wait, Mr. Stark,” Peter says exhaustedly, “we have to go find Mr. Hammer.”

A loud ringing fills Tony’s ears. His breath stops. His fingers go numb.

_Hammer. Limbs bent in all directions. Blood drizzling down his face. Bones snapping. Eyes blank. The scent of copper and blood. Maroon, maroon everywhere. Saliva and steam and blood and his fault, his fault, hisfault hisfault hisfault—_

“Mr. Stark.”

It’s strange that Peter’s voice pulls him from his daze, because it’s barely more than a whisper. “Mr. Stark,” he says again, brokenly, “something happened to him, didn’t it.”

Tony can hear the sound of Hammer’s arm yanking from his body over and over. Ligaments and muscles snapping. He drags out the silence for far too long. Peter’s face begins to crumple, and the billionaire immediately looks away. _His fault_.

“Yeah kid,” he says hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut, “he didn’t make it.”

He can hear the kid take in a long breath, picturing him blinking back tears. “Shit,” Peter breathes.

Tony laughs humorlessly. “Yeah. Shit.”

They sit there a long time. Eventually, Tony turns his gaze back to the kid, who suddenly looks incredibly tired. Like he’s aged ten years in a single moment. Grief is nearly tangible in the air, like there’s a physical void near them. Like there should be someone else there.

And suddenly, the kid slumps. Then he _sobs_. And _yikes_ —Tony has no idea how to deal with this.

But before he can begin to panic, Peter scooches until he’s pressed firmly into Tony’s side. Unashamedly, the kid rests his head just under the billionaire’s collar bone, and just _cries_.

They’re both absolutely drenched. They both have blood on their faces and hands from the rough bark. They both smell of mud and sweat. But it doesn’t matter. Because the rain has slowed into something soothing, something hypnotic. Because the park is actually very beautiful from up here. Because each genius is soothed by the warmth of the other.

Tony snakes an arm around Peter’s shoulder and holds him close. Peter’s sobs have softened into occasional sniffles. They watch the rain drip off of leaves, and ignore the barely discernable sounds of dinosaur calls.

Just when Tony thinks Peter has drifted off, he croaks, in a small voice, “What if it comes back?”

Their brown eyes meet. Once again, Tony feels a rush of protectiveness run through his chest. God, is this what parenting is like? It’s _exhausting_.

Tony gently wipes a thumb beneath Peter’s eye to erase the last trace of tears. “It’s okay, bud. I’ll stay awake.”

“All night?”

“All night,” Tony confirms with a soft smile.

Peter presses himself impossibly closer to the billionaire, his hand gripped in the material of Tony’s shirt, and after a few minutes, his breaths finally even out. He stares down at the teen’s face, and feels a flood of warmth enter his chest. The kid’s brows are slightly furrowed in sleep. Tony instinctively runs his fingers through Peter’s brown curls, and his face finally relaxes fully.

His eyes begin to droop, but he knows any abnormal sounds will wake him instantly (the perks of insomnia). He carefully rests his head against Peter’s—careful to avoid his injury—and lets the sounds of his kid’s soft breaths lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the time between chapter updates is getting longer :-0 My bad.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! The tree scene is, like, my favorite one from the book :-) I was so excited to write it!
> 
> We'll jump back to some other POV's next chapter, but Tony and Peter still have a long journey ahead of them. (And Beck needs to get what he deserves) ;-)
> 
> Until next time!


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